Shadows From the Dim Hereafter
by CoffeeManiac
Summary: When Sam is fifteen, a fight with his father leads to a life and death struggle that neither could have predicted. Not slash. Story is complete. Updates will be posted about every other day. Reviews are welcome and appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

Shadows From the Dim Hereafter

By: CoffeeManiac

Not Slash. Rated T for some mature content.

Warnings: Violence. Hints at sensitive subject matter. Lots of HurtSam. Some HurtDean. This story is not labeled as horror, however, towards the end, there are a couple of short, but fairly gruesome descriptions so, please be prepared.

Dean is 20, Sam is 15 (a little old for weechesters but, obviously, pre-Season 1)

A/N: Story title comes from a poem by Jack Prelutsky called "The Haunted House"

**April 1, 1999**

Dean woke with a start. He darted up and looked across the room to Sam's bed, finding it empty. Something had startled him but it took a moment to recognize what it was. Then he heard his father's voice followed by Sam's. The two of them were arguing again. Dean groaned, lied back down and closed his eyes. He knew he'd have to get up and deal with them but he didn't want to. He'd spent so much time playing referee lately, he was starting to wonder what else he was good for.

A moment later he heard the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh. He shot up trying to rationalize the noise. In all the arguing, it had never turned physical. He couldn't believe that it had. Then he heard it again.

Dean burst into the living room to find the unthinkable. Sam backed up against the wall with a hand to his cheek and Dad standing in front of him with a clenched fist. Both of them were panting and red-faced. Sam looked stunned with fury lacing the edges of his expression.

"Dad. What the hell?" Dean said. He wasn't exactly angry yet, still surprised, still trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

"Get your things," Dad ordered. "Get his things. We're leaving."

"Where are we going?"

"You and I have a hunt. Sam's going to June's."

"Dad," Sam said but his voice sounded weak.

Dad turned on him pointing his finger millimeters from Sam's face. "Don't. Not one word. Get dressed."

Sam glared at Dean, telling him that he needed to do something just by the look on his face.

"We're a family," Dean said. "We stay together."

Dad shook his head. "I can't do this anymore." He motioned towards Sam. "Obviously. A week apart will be better for everyone. Do what I say."

Sam took his hand down and pushed away from the wall. Dad stepped back to give him room. Dean could see the bright, angry red across his cheek as Sam maneuvered his way past him and into the bedroom.

Anger shot through him and Dean walked up to his father, invading his space and standing chest to chest. Dad stiffened at the threat but Dean didn't back down.

"Never again," he said.

Dad spun away from Dean and walked out of the motel room.

Dean rubbed a hand through his hair, taking a minute to get some perspective before going to talk to Sam. Dean knew his younger brother didn't have the sense to stop pushing. He just didn't know when to walk away from an argument. And his father had a short fuse. They both knew that. It was a miracle that Dad hadn't clocked the kid before now.

But, Dean also knew that his father was wrong. Dad believed in spanking and exercised that belief as needed when the boys were younger. He demanded their obedience. But, after a certain age, spanking stopped being an appropriate response and slapping a kid across the face was never okay.

Dad should have had the self-discipline to walk away. Regardless of how hard Sam pushed, he was the adult and that made it his responsibility to keep the argument from becoming physical.

Dean pushed open the bedroom door and found Sam dressed in yesterday's jeans and t-shirt. His clothes and bathroom things were stuffed into his duffel. Sam sat beside the bag and was pulling on his sneakers. The red neon across his cheek both accused and damned their father.

"What was the fight about?" Dean asked.

"Does it matter?" He responded, angrily. Dean glared at him.

"The hunt you two are going on," Sam said. "It's in South Dakota near Bobby's place. I just thought we could drop in and see him."

Dean shook his head. "You know Dad isn't going to do that. Bobby chased us off with a shotgun and Dad isn't going to forgive that."

"It was so long ago, Dean. And Bobby, well, you know how he was. He was practically family."

"Let me guess, Dad said no and you didn't drop it."

"He was being unreasonable."

"That's your excuse? Dad is in charge, Sam. If he says we're not going to see Bobby Singer then that's it. You didn't need to make it a big deal."

"Neither did he," Sam argued.

"Why'd he hit you?"

"I told him he was unreasonable."

Dean didn't believe him. "Yeah, right, that's what you said."

"I said he was being a jerk, all right? And he was."

"He's our father, Sam. You can't call him names and argue about every decision he makes."

"He's not a father, he's a drill sergeant. He treats like his own personal soldiers."

"Try being loyal, Sam. Try appreciating all he does for us."

"That's what he said. Just before he hit me the second time."

Sam zipped up his bag and stalked out of the room.

Dean grabbed the alarm clock on the table and threw it, satisfied when it smashed against the wall. He tossed his arms in the air and stomped back and forth muttering expletives. Knowing his father was waiting and Sam was already outside derailed Dean's temper. He grabbed his duffle, tossed it on the bed and headed to the bathroom.

It only took about fifteen minutes to get dressed, brush his teeth and pack up his bag before Dean made it outside. Dad was already in the driver's seat and Sam was sitting sullenly in the back. Dean threw his bag in the trunk, closed it and slipped into the car.

Dean rolled down his window to take advantage of the unusually warm day. At just the beginning of spring, it could easily be near freezing as be pleasant. Dean hated the cold so he was glad to feel the sun against his bare arms.

The small town they stopped in two nights before was just waking. Small stores with their owners or managers or whoever unlocking their doors, and a few people strolling along the sidewalk with coffee cups clutched in their hands. Being a Thursday, Dean figured they were on their way to work. Kids would already be in school or be on their way to school. He knew that Sam wished he was enrolled somewhere but since Christmas they hadn't been in one place long enough.

Soon enough the small town streets gave way to the I-90 and they were on their way to Rochester, Minnesota to drop Sam off. June Fisher and Derek Sprite were sibling hunters. A couple of years earlier, June's husband had been turned by a werewolf forcing her to kill him. She had enlisted her brother's help and after that the two of them were committed to hunting the supernatural. With a big house and nearly unlimited finances due to an inheritance from their parents, they also acted as a safe haven for hunters who needed it.

"Call June. Tell her we're on the way. About three hours out. Make sure they can take Sam for a few days," Dad said.

"I'm not a puppy that needs kenneling," Sam said.

"Shut up, Sam," Dad said.

Dean scoffed at both of them and scrolled through until he found June's number. She answered after the first ring.

"Hi June, it's Dean Winchester."

"Hi there, young man, is everything all right?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah, fine. Dad and I are heading to South Dakota and…"

"You going to see Bobby?"

"Uh, no, actually, it's not about Bobby. Well, I guess it kind of is, but, that's not why I'm…"

"Give me the phone, Dean," Dad said angrily. Dean handed it to him.

"June, we're going on a hunt in Watertown."

Dad paused while she said something.

"Yeah, the Bartholomay estate. Anyway, I don't want to take Sam with us. Can he stay with you and Derek? Probably be four or five days."

Dad glanced in the rearview while she said something else.

"All right, good. Thank you. We're about three hours out."

He clicked the phone off and tossed it on the seat between them. He glared at Dean.

"What was that about? It was a pretty simple order I gave you."

"She thought we were going to see Bobby Singer."

"We're not," Dad said. "And I'm done talking about him." The gruff tone heralded the end of any possibility of truce.

Sam slumped his way to the corner of the backseat and returned to sulking. Dean flipped the passenger side visor down and opened the mirror. He had been using it for years to check on Sam during their trips. The red on his cheek had faded but Dean thought he could see a light bruise. Sam touched it gingerly before folding his arms across his chest and closing his eyes.

Watching his brother settle into sleep, Dean sent a scowl towards his father. Dad should never have resorted to hitting him. If it had been anyone else, Sam would have laid him out and, if not, Dean would have. Both of them knew how to block a punch. Both of them knew how to throw one too. But, this was their father and neither of them would raise a hand to him. Dad owed them the same respect.

Dean spent the three hours to Rochester entertaining himself. He watched the scenery pass and read the notes they had on the possible haunting in Watertown. He kept using his mirror to glance back at Sam but his brother just read "To Kill A Mockingbird" and stared out the window. Dad drove silently, listening to an oldies station as it belted out hair band music from the 80's.

Dean remembered when the three of them would talk to each other, about nothing, about everything. But, the last couple of years, it seemed like there was nothing to agree about anymore.

When Dad pulled up to the curb in front of the house that June shared with her brother, a steady rain pelted the ground and a breeze kept the trees swishing above their heads. Sam didn't speak as he opened the door and walked around to the back of the car to grab his duffle bag. Dad glanced at Dean before he stepped out to unlock the trunk. Dean climbed out too feeling like they were making a mistake.

June's house looked newly painted. Dean remembered white paint with green trim but now the accent color was blue. With lots of windows and a lilac tree in the side yard, it was homier than the places most hunters used.

June liked to keep everything clean and maintained. She said she wanted her home to be a home and work to be something else. Derek just claimed that his sister was a "neat freak".

Once Sam pulled his duffle over one shoulder, Dad closed the trunk and led the way to the front door. Dean placed himself between the two of them, hoping not to discuss their problems with outsiders. Friends were not family.

Dad knocked. The reinforced screen door with its oversized lock as well as the heavy door behind it was the only visible nod to the paranoia of hunters. Dad looked back at Sam from toe to head before returning his attention to waiting. A moment later, Derek Sprite pulled open the door with a welcoming smile.

"John, boys, it's good to see you."

"Thanks, Derek," Dad responded, shaking hands with the other man as they filed in. Derek shook with Dean and Sam as well before leading the way inside.

Derek's hair had grown longer and shaggier and he looked a little pale. Dean figured that winters in Minnesota didn't offer many opportunities for getting a tan.

The three of them wiped their feet on a rug at the door then Derek led them towards the back of the house.

Flat, sand colored carpet ran through the living room and dining room. A gold colored easy chair with the same fabric for a couch and loveseat filled the main room. A good sized television stood beside a tall black lamp. A heavy, wood coffee table sat in the middle of it all, with a black lace cover to protect it.

"June's in the kitchen," Derek said as he moved through the large, open entryway into the dining room. Filled with a round, cherry wood table and matching chairs, it was decorated with a plastic, frilly centerpiece. They also had a matching china cabinet sitting along the side wall.

They continued their parade into the kitchen where the carpet gave way to yellow and gray linoleum. June squealed like a little girl when she saw them. She stopped stirring whatever she was cooking and rushed over to hug Dad. She hugged Dean next and finally Sam, saying he had grown taller since their last visit. Before any of the Winchester men could speak, June ushered them into the chairs around the kitchen table.

"Okay, what can I get you to drink? Coffee? Pop? What sounds good?"

"Water, for me," Derek piped up as he slid into the chair closest to the dining room entry.

"Of course, Mr. America. Nothing but purity for you," she joked.

June pulled out the elastic band that held her hair in a ponytail. She finger combed the brown locks then replaced the band. Dean watched her, somewhat fascinated. With her hair pulled back, it hung past her shoulder blades. Loose, it hung below her narrow waist.

"I put a weight machine upstairs," Derek said, distracting Dean. "I can bench press 290 now and leg press more than 400."

"Uh, yeah, you were just getting started when I was here last year," Dad said. "There's a lot of definition in your arms now."

Though no one but Derek had answered about drinks, June put two Cokes out for Dean and Sam and placed a cup of coffee in front of Dad. Sam stood up and pulled an extra chair from the corner, placing it between Derek and their father. June patted his arm as she settled into it. Dean rolled his eyes, thinking his brother was a "kiss ass" and somewhat embarrassed that he hadn't thought to do it himself.

"So, Sam, I get to have you for a few days," June said.

"Yes, ma'am," Sam said. He touched his cheek but Dean didn't think he was thinking about it when he did.

"Well, good. Spring around here is time for all sorts of things. I have some trees out back that need a trim. We haven't been able to wash the windows in six months. But, don't start thinking it'll be all work because there's a festival in town on Sunday. It'll have games and rides. Lots of food too. And girls from the high school."

"Sam will be happy to help with anything you need," Dad said, pointedly, glossing over the fun part.

Sam just nodded with tight lipped annoyance.

"Yeah, well, we won't be gone more than a few days," Dean said. "It's probably just a ghost so, we'll take care of it and come right back."

"There's no such thing as 'just a ghost'," Derek interjected. "You always have to be ready for anything, Dean, you should know that by now."

"Yeah, but, I mean, we've done this a hundred times."

"Derek is right, son. We need to treat every job like it's unique. You never know what's going to happen," Dad said.

Dean knew better than to argue with his father. He didn't even disagree, not really. Mostly, he only said what he said to make Sam feel like they weren't deserting him.

"Derek, you mind if I talk to you outside for a minute?" Dad asked.

Derek stood up immediately with a quick glance at June who raised her eyes in surprise but didn't comment. When the two men had left, she smiled at Sam.

"We just had some soup for lunch. How about I get you boys a bowl and maybe a couple peanut butter sandwiches?"

"You don't have to," Sam said.

"But, if you want to," Dean said, never willing to turn down a meal.

"I want to," she assured them. "Come on, Sam, you can help. I'll re-warm the soup and you can make up the sandwiches. You should know where things are while you're here."

Sam followed her directions as she told him where to find the bread, peanut butter and strawberry jelly. She reached into a cupboard and pulled out a package of paper plates. She opened a drawer to show him where the silverware was kept.

Dean watched his brother move through her instructions easily and he seemed to be relaxing more as she talked about planting new trees in the backyard.

June stopped to watch Sam as he cut three sandwiches in half and then stacked them on one paper plate.

"Oh, honey, give everyone their own plate. Much less mess and crumbs if we're not reaching across each other."

"Sure, uh, sorry." Sam dealt out two more plates like cards then put a sandwich on each one.

Derek came back in, commenting on the cold of the rain. Dad showed up a moment after that rubbing his hands together.

"Time to go, Dean."

"Sit down, John. Sam and I just finished making lunch," June said, waving towards his chair. "You have time for a little vegetable beef soup."

"You didn't need to do that," he said.

"Don't be silly. You're a guest. I feed my guests. As long as you don't go around trashing the place, we'll be all set."

June laughed and Dean felt a weird tickle slide down his spine. Her laugh sounded just a little bit manic and he wondered how seriously she took the cleanliness thing. Dean looked at Sam and then at his father but neither one seemed to notice anything. He carefully took his plate when Sam handed it to him and then the bowl from June. He ate slowly while he listened to Derek talk about his work-out routine and wished again that they weren't leaving Sam behind.

Less than an hour later, Dad announced that they had to go if they were going to reach Watertown before nightfall. Dean started to help clean up the paper plate lunch but June stopped him saying that she and Sam would take care of it.

Dad hugged her lightly and thanked her then shook Derek's hand. He motioned Sam to him and shook his hand as well. Dean couldn't tell if he said anything to him. Dean followed his example with their hosts. But, he hesitated to say good-bye to his brother. He called him into the dining room, away from the adults.

"It's just a few days," he said once they were alone.

"I'll be fine, Dean."

"I know. I just…Dad's probably right about this. You both need to cool off. But, we're only a few hours away if you need anything."

Sam nodded with just the slightest of smiles.

"Okay," Dean said. "Don't make a mess."

Sam laughed out loud just as Dad emerged from the kitchen. His father narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything.

Dean followed him through the living room, out the front door and into the rain.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS


	2. Chapter 2

Shadows From the Dim Hereafter

By: CoffeeManiac

Not Slash. Rated T for some mature content.

Warnings: Violence. Hints at sensitive subject matter. Lots of HurtSam. Some HurtDean. This story is not labeled as horror, however, towards the end, there are a couple of short, but fairly gruesome descriptions so, please be prepared.

**Part 2**

Sam watched his family leave feeling angry and betrayed by his father and sad to be separated from his brother. Sure, the fight in the morning had been bad and Sam had used poor judgment, maybe no judgment, in attacking his father's decision. But, Dad was the one who overreacted so why was Sam the one to get punished?

He returned to the kitchen to find Derek sitting at the table, polishing off his bottle of water. Derek nodded towards the duffle that Sam had set down when they arrived.

"Why don't you grab that and I'll show you your room," he said.

"Thanks," Sam said as he picked up the bag.

"The rules are simple, Sam. Do the chores you're given, clean up after yourself and be available when you're needed. Does any of that sound like a problem?"

"No, sir," Sam answered. He'd been living with the same rules his whole life.

"How old are you now?" Derek asked.

"Fifteen. I'll be sixteen next month."

"You got a girl friend?"

"Uh, no, we're not really in one place long enough."

"I bet your brother's had girlfriends."

Sam laughed, feeling a little uncomfortable.

Derek walked them through the house to a small bedroom set off from the living room. It had a single bed, a dresser and a lamp with a shade decorated by pink ballerinas. The bed wasn't made. No sheet, no blankets and just a bare pillow.

"The bedding is kept in the laundry room which is that little room right off the kitchen. There's a closet in there so you can get whatever you need. The cellar is through the wood door on the right. And you've been on the patio, right?"

"Yeah, thanks," Sam said.

"You go ahead and get your things put away, make your bed and then come on outside. We need to cover the trees back there because the temperature is supposed to drop tonight."

"Sure. I can help with that first if you want."

"Nope. I want you to do what I said."

Sam studied the man in front of him. He didn't remember Derek being so serious. In the few times they'd stopped there, he'd always seemed easy going.

"Okay, Derek. I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Good boy. Your dad said you might be head strong, difficult, but, uh, if you keep up with this attitude then we'll have a nice few days together."

Sam stared after Derek as he left. He couldn't believe his father had said something like that. Was his Dad still so angry that he warned Derek about him? Was Sam really so out of control that his Dad thought a warning was necessary?

He shook his head, anger washing over him, and headed for the laundry room. He didn't see either of his hosts as he made his way through the house. When he passed through the kitchen he caught sight of them standing on the back patio beneath a large umbrella. He couldn't hear them and wondered if they were discussing the discipline problem that they'd agreed to watch over.

He shook that off and slid open the closet door. He found the sheets stacked neatly and folded precisely on two different shelves. He took the top set which, thankfully, did not have ballerinas on them. They were plain and green and suited his purposes. On another shelf, he found pillow cases. The matching color for his bed sat someplace in the middle so he just grabbed the top one, which was dark blue. Blankets filled one half of the other side so he grabbed two then took the whole mess back to his room.

As directed, he made his bed like any good soldier. His dad had taught him how to properly tuck in corners and make everything straight from the bottom up. He shoved his duffle into a corner figuring he wouldn't be there long enough to unpack then set out to find Derek.

The afternoon had waned into early evening. The temperature had dropped significantly. Sam wished he had dug a jacket or hoodie out of his bag before braving the outside.

Derek waved at him from where he stood near a line of young trees, barely four feet tall. June stood under the umbrella on the patio and wished Sam luck before she went inside.

"These are maple trees. Very sturdy, normally, but these are young so we need to cover them. There are some hedges on the opposite side there and they need to be covered as well. The covers are just inside the back door on a shelf that I built last year. Just cover them up, not too tight at the bottom but make sure they're protected. Do you understand?"

"Sure," Sam said. "Is the cellar door unlocked?"

"Wouldn't do you much good if it wasn't," Derek responded then laughed at his sardonic reply.

Derek patted Sam's shoulder and left him to do the job.

When this project had been presented to him, Sam assumed that they'd be doing it together. Instead he was standing out in the rain, getting drenched while June and Derek took turns checking on him from inside the house. He walked across the lawn and opened the back door. There were shelves on either side of the cement stairwell that led to the cellar. He grabbed the stack of plastic covers and returned to the row of new trees.

His teeth were chattering by the time he finished covering them up but he still had the hedges. Sam considered going inside to get warm for a few minutes before tackling the rest but decided against it. Hopefully, he'd be able to get something hot to drink after he was done.

Covering the hedges took longer than the trees. Sam's fingers were numb and he was soaked all the way through. His hair was dripping into his eyes as he climbed the wood stairs up to the patio deck.

June met him at the door with towels. She gave him one for his hair and laid a couple on the floor for his feet and to drip on. She put another one on top of the dryer.

"Don't track through the house. When you're done drying, throw the towels into the washer. After you get changed, we'll have some dinner. Can you do that, Sam?"

Cold and cranky, Sam scowled at her. He wasn't stupid. He could follow simple directions.

"I think I can manage," he answered.

"Then let me ask you something. Why is your bag still out in the guest room?"

"My duffle bag? It's in the corner."

"That's not what I asked."

"You mean why didn't I unpack?"

June just stared at him, expectantly.

"I'm only going to be here a couple of days. I didn't want to empty it just to repack it."

"So, it was better to have my home look like a flophouse rather than inconvenience yourself."

"Um, no…"

She nodded, pointedly. "Yes, well, consideration is just as important as cleanliness. Get dry, put the towels in the washer, put your clothes in the hamper, put on something dry and then unpack. Your duffle can hang on the hook in the closet."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry."

"And Sam, I remade your bed so that everything matches. It's not good enough just to make it. Anything worth doing is worth doing right, surely your father has told you that."

Sam bit back his instinct to tell her not to call him "Shirley". Instead he just nodded and she walked back into the kitchen.

June squeezed his bicep as if to ease out of the argument, but Sam scowled as she left him. He had known June for about three years and had never seen her like that. While everyone who stayed at the house knew she liked a tidy home, Sam hadn't realized she was so obsessive. Of course, he didn't have a lot to compare to. Maybe people who owned homes, where they actually lived, were militant about it.

He rubbed the towels over his clothes and took off his sneakers. He tossed the damp towels in the washer then headed towards his room to change. He saw Derek in the living room and the other man stopped him.

"Did you get those trees covered?"

"Everything is covered," Sam answered.

"All right, good man. Keep doing what we tell you and we'll give your dad a good report when he picks you up."

"Yeah, well, I don't think he's worried about it but, thanks."

"You didn't hear him when we went outside. I don't know what you did, Sam, but John is plenty mad at you."

Sam shrugged. Hearing that made him angry but, sad too, or maybe frustrated would be a better word. He knew that he and his father argued a lot and the fight that morning had been particularly brutal. But, they always managed to find a way past all the anger even if it took a few days. To have his father confiding in others about him just felt wrong.

Sam walked into the bedroom and closed the door. He stripped out of his clothes, thinking about the disagreement over Bobby Singer. He probably shouldn't have accused his father of being selfish. And he probably shouldn't have told him that he was single-minded and obsessive. He definitely shouldn't have thrown the hunt for mom's killer back at him as proof. Remembering it now, he could kind of understand why his father lashed out.

He slipped on a pair of black sweats and a white t-shirt and put on some dry socks. He scooped up all the wet clothes and took them back to the laundry room.

June sat at the kitchen table with her laptop open. Derek stood over her shoulder. Sam wondered if they were researching a hunt so he threw his clothes in the washer, put in soap and fabric softener and turned it on.

Coming back into the kitchen, he pulled a chair out at the table. June and Derek stopped talking to look at him.

"Is there a hunt around here?" Sam asked.

"Why do you ask?" June frowned as she spoke.

"Maybe I can help. I'm good at research. I do most of it when Dad and Dean are getting ready for something."

The adults exchanged amused looks but didn't say anything.

Slightly offended, Sam said, "Look, if you don't want help, that's fine, I just thought…"

"Interrupting isn't really helping," Derek said.

"Have you finished doing what you're supposed to be doing?" June asked.

"I'm dry," Sam announced then laughed, trying to ease the tension between him and them.

Neither of them changed their expressions.

"I put the clothes and towels in the wash and I changed."

"Did you unpack?" she asked.

Sam shook his head, feeling the red creep up his cheeks. "No, ma'am."

"And did you mix the towels with your clothes in the wash?"

"Yeah, you said to…"

"What I said was to put the towels in the wash and your clothes in the hamper. That way, the towels stay soft and smell better for longer. It's a simple way to keep things nice. Now, will you go to the guest room and unpack?"

"I told you to unpack hours ago," Derek added. "Where's your head, kid?"

Sam didn't know what to say. He stood up slowly, pushed in the chair with excessive caution and walked out of the kitchen.

**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**

After unpacking his bag and hanging everything on hangers in the closet, Sam sat down on the bed. He rubbed his hands through his hair. Hungry and thinking his father must have been really pissed to leave him with the OCD couple from hell Sam threw himself on to his back. He closed his eyes for a moment then sat up again. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, flipped it open and picked Dean's name out of the scroll list of contacts. It rang four times before his brother picked up.

"Hey, Sammy, how are they treating you?"

"Hi, just wanted to check in. I just finished covering a bunch of shrubs and stuff so the cold won't kill them."

"Well, that sounds like fun…not."

"So, um, where are you?"

"We're in Watertown. Just got into a room, actually. We checked out the house a little bit but Dad wants to make a few calls before we go in. Plus it's some kind of historic site so there's security we didn't expect."

"Did you talk to the owner?"

"She's hot, Sammy. You should see her. Maybe 25, tall, thin, likes wearing her clothes a size too small."

"Isn't she married?"

"She's still hot."

"So you're having a good time, I guess."

"Well, you know, I like to hunt and I like women so…"

Sam chuckled, feeling better just hearing his brother's voice.

"Dad's starting to settle down," Dean said. "He didn't talk the whole way here but he seems like he's getting back to normal."

"However good that is."

"Better than the alternative, you know what I'm saying? So, how are you? Is June treating like you the baby boy she never had?"

"I hope not," Sam answered without thinking and then regretted it.

"Why, what do you mean?"

"Nothing. I shouldn't have said that. Everything's okay here."

"What aren't you saying?" Dean's protective streak spoke louder than his question.

Sam chose his next words carefully. He didn't want to worry Dean or make it seem like he was whining. "No, really, it's fine. June is a little more of a neat freak than I realized, that's all."

"Yeah, I thought maybe that would come up. You're in their house, though. You can't be a slob like you are around me."

"I guess not." Sam laughed again.

"Oh, hey, gotta go. Dad's got a pizza craving so we're heading out. Call you tomorrow."

"Sounds good. Night, Dean."

"Night, Sammy."

The call cut off from Dean's end and Sam flipped his phone closed. He stuck it back in his pocket.

He crab-walked to the top of the bed and pulled his tattered copy of To Kill A Mockingbird from the nightstand drawer. Pushing back to lean against the metal headboard, he opened to a dog-eared page and started reading.

Atticus Finch fascinated Sam. Steadfast and confident in his beliefs, he used his intelligence and compassion to raise his children while refusing to compromise his principals. If Sam managed to become a lawyer, he hoped to be as honorable and brave. Not that it was likely that he'd become a lawyer but Sam preferred to think that someday he'd get out from under his father's rule. He had to believe that or he'd lose himself.

His stomach rumbled and he wondered if they were going to eat dinner soon. Pizza sounded good so if June wasn't cooking, he thought he'd go out on his own and find some. He wanted a shower too. The cold from earlier hadn't really left him.

Sam yawned after getting another chapter in and looked at his watch. It was nearly eight o'clock and his stomach refused to be ignored any longer. He marked his page in the book and dropped it back in the drawer. Then he walked towards the kitchen.

June stood alone at the sink with her back to Sam. She rinsed off a plate and slid it into the dishwasher.

"Hi June," Sam said. She flinched and spun towards him, her ponytail swinging wildly. He held up his hands with a chuckle. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

She exhaled and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. "I was lost in my thoughts," she said.

Sam shrugged. "Sorry."

"It's all right, Sam. Um, are you hungry? You didn't come for dinner."

"I'm starved. I was reading. I guess I lost track of time."

"I called but you didn't show up. Derek said you were probably sulking. No matter. Just have a seat and I'll warm your plate."

Sam chose to ignore the "sulking" comment. Both Dean and his father accused him of it often enough that he guessed it had been a fair assumption.

"I can do it if you want," he offered. "I'll rinse the plate and put it in the dishwasher."

June nodded. "Thank you. That would help. Your food is in the refrigerator with foil over it. Don't forget to take off the foil before you put it into the microwave."

"I know about metal and microwaves," Sam said, wondering why she spoke to him as if he was deficient.

"Good. And Sam…I know Derek and I must seem awfully particular about things. It's just important to us to keep everything as normal as possible when we're not hunting."

"I can understand that." Sam wished on a frequent basis that his family lived a more normal life.

"All right then," She scuffed a hand through his hair as she said, "I'm going to watch some TV in my room for a while. Just knock on the door if you need anything. Derek went out with some friends so he probably won't be back until late."

"Okay, thanks," Sam said.

He breathed a little in relief when she left. She resonated with so much intensity that he found it exhausting just being in the same room with her.

He opened the gold colored refrigerator and withdrew a glass, foil-covered plate. He pulled off the cover and looked at a baked chicken thigh with a scoop of white rice and some green beans around it. The skin on the chicken was wrinkled and the rice had crusty edges. It looked like it had been in there for a few days, not a couple of hours.

Since Sam started his growth spurt, he had been overwhelmed by constant hunger. Because he wanted to live passed thirty, Sam generally chose healthy over junk but he still ate loads of granola, fruit and salad. His proteins consisted of egg whites, baked chicken and broiled fish and large portions of all.

He had grown several inches since last summer and while he hadn't added much bulk, his father told him to expect to fill out and probably dwarf both Dad and Dean before he was done.

As Sam looked at his dinner he was reminded of a movie that he watched with Bobby Singer. When some rich people were served a tiny piece of steak that appeared to be the meal, Bobby said, "that wouldn't fill a cavity for me."

Sam remembered laughing but looking at the small portion on his plate, he wasn't as amused. Still, sometimes money was tight with the Winchester family and meals were skimpy. He was somewhat used to making do when it came to managing his own appetite. So, Sam put the plate in the microwave, double-checked that the foil was no place near the machine and set it for two minutes to warm.

He figured he could always strike out on his own the next day and buy some snacks and things to fill in the gap. His father had given him a little money to get by so maybe he could see if June or Derek needed anything. He had thought the siblings were well off financially but maybe something had changed.

When the timer dinged, Sam took his plate to the table, retrieved a bottle of water from the refrigerator and ate his dinner. The food tasted old, but his growling stomach was glad for the attention. Not really satisfied after he finished, at least the edge to his hunger had been sated. He took his plate to the sink, rinsed it thoroughly then put it in the dishwasher. His fork and knife followed. Taking a look inside the machine he thought it looked full so he opened drawers until he found the soap packets. He dropped one in the cup, closed the machine and set the cycle.

Satisfied he had done everything he could, Sam retreated back to the guest room. He grabbed a jacket out of the closet then headed out back to the patio. As soon as he opened the sliding glass door, a cold wind swept over him. He shivered and pulled his coat tighter.

Stepping out on to the wood planks, he closed the door behind him. He walked to the edge to lean over the railing and look across the large backyard. Wind ruffled the covers he had placed over the foliage.

Sam fisted his hands in his pockets and turned his face into the pelting rain. The drops felt like ice against his skin. He found himself holding his breath against the chill but he didn't want to go in. Being outside lessened the sensation of being trapped in that house. Living in a strange place, with virtual strangers who acted like they had authority, gave him a claustrophobic feeling and he wished he could join his family on their hunt.

He touched fingers to his cold cheek, wincing at the bruise there. He still couldn't believe his father had slugged him…twice. He couldn't believe his father had ditched him either. He supposed that Dad had wanted to do both for a while. Sam was surprised when that thought brought tears. He wiped at them angrily. He refused to be hurt by either action. He knew he was pushing too hard and he knew that his father had limits. Sam had shoved Dad over the edge of good sense so there was no point in resenting the results of what he had caused.

He put his hands around the railing and leaned forward. The slight sensation of falling felt right. He leaned a little bit further and closed his eyes, imagining what it would be like if the wood gave way and he tumbled over. It was probably a ten foot drop. He'd probably break a limb, maybe even his neck. He pushed back and stood up straight.

Car lights caught Sam's attention and he watched as Derek parked by the curb in his F-150. The lights dimmed and then the driver's side door opened. Sam was surprised when the passenger side opened next. A woman slid out, planting her feet on the sidewalk. Tall and willowy, Sam noticed the way her long, blond hair swept over her breasts. She wore a tight-fitting coat that was probably leather or something like it and hugged her hips. She pushed her hair behind her back and grabbed something out of the truck. It looked like a piece of luggage.

Derek joined her on the sidewalk and took her hand. Together they headed towards the back door and Sam suddenly felt conspicuous standing on the patio watching them. He started to back away from the railing hoping they wouldn't see him and think he was spying when Derek yanked the girl violently into shadow of the house. In one quick motion he raised his arm, Sam gasped at the knife in his hand. Derek drove it down quickly into the girl's chest.

She screamed out once before collapsing to the pavement.

Sam leaped over the gate of the patio and pounded down the wood steps.

"What are you doing?" Sam demanded as he shoved Derek back from the girl.

Sam glanced at her to see if she was still alive. Derek recovered his balance and bounded back towards him. Sam ducked when Derek swung at his face but didn't get enough distance. Derek followed up with a second swing that landed a hard blow into his abdomen and sent Sam to one knee, gasping for breath.

The girl started scrabbling backward to escape but Derek landed on her hard and drove the knife into her chest again.

Sam struggled off the ground. Just as he turned towards the horrific murder something slammed into his head and he went down again. Groaning he put his hands down and pushed up. Fighting the urge to vomit, he sputtered, trying to get Derek's attention when another blow to the head stopped him.

**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS **


	3. Chapter 3

Shadows From the Dim Hereafter

By: CoffeeManiac

Not Slash. Rated T for some mature content.

Warnings: Violence. Hints at sensitive subject matter. Lots of HurtSam. Some HurtDean. This story is not labeled as horror, however, towards the end, there are a couple of short, but fairly gruesome descriptions so, please be prepared.

**Part 3**

When Sam found consciousness again, he wished it had stayed away longer. He was nauseous with a blinding headache that forced him to keep squinting against the meager light. Something cool lay over his head and he felt hands rubbing his arm.

"Wake up, Sam. Come on, honey," a female voice cooed.

It only took a moment to understand that he wasn't with his family. The woman was June and she sounded worried.

"Can you talk to me?" she asked.

"I'm okay," he pushed out over a dry throat.

"I'm so sorry."

"Did you hit me?" Adrenaline surged up causing his head to explode in pain and he squeezed his eyes closed again.

"You wouldn't stop fighting. Derek…"

"…killed that girl," Sam said.

"No. I mean, yes, but it wasn't a girl. It was a shapeshifter, Sam. He was working."

"What? No, it was…she looked just like…"

"Well, they do, don't they? They look human but they're not. It had already killed that girl and taken over her life. Derek confirmed it beforehand, of course."

Before Sam could muddle his way through her words, Derek appeared above him wearing a weak smile.

"Hi there," he greeted. "How's your head?"

"You brought a monster home to kill?" Sam asked, disbelieving.

Sounding much less friendly, Derek asked. "You're still doubting me?"

Sam shifted on the bed in the guest room. He pushed himself up and the washcloth over his forehead fell to his lap. June snatched it away, folded it and put it in the bowl of water. Sam noticed peripherally but he was watching Derek.

"You don't trust me, Sam, is that it?"

"Why did she have a suitcase? Why was she holding your hand?"

"I had to get her here. She had to think I trusted her. And you're really telling me that you're a hunter but you couldn't see that she was a 'shifter? I mean, I know you're young, but do you pay attention to anything John teaches you?"

"Shapeshifters look human. There's no way to tell unless you cut them with silver."

"Okay, Sam, you're obviously the expert here."

"Derek, calm down," June said. "He thought he was helping."

"He thought I was murdering someone," Derek shot back and stomped out of the room.

Sam put his head in his hands. He figured he must have a concussion because the pain was so intense and his stomach kept rebelling. June nudged him forward and sat down just behind and to the side of him. She started rubbing his back with strong hands that soon moved lower. Sam sighed. The massage felt good and it was helping with the tension running through him. When her hand slipped under his t-shirt, her warmth touched him and Sam shifted when his body started having an inappropriate reaction. He pushed away from her, hoping the blanket covered his indiscretion.

"I'm sorry. Am I hurting you?" she asked, softly.

"It's okay, just, uh, I want to sleep for a little while."

She took her hand away from his skin and patted his shoulder. "Of course. I'll check on you in a couple of hours. I really am sorry for knocking you out."

Sam frowned at that. "Why did you?"

"You were attacking Derek," she answered simply.

"Yeah, but, all you had to do was tell me what was going on. He'd already stabbed the 'shifter. It wasn't going anywhere."

"Well, it all happened very quickly, didn't it?" She smiled as she slid her ponytail from around her hair then replaced it.

Sam pressed his lips together and nodded but he didn't feel any better about what happened. June patted his knee as she left him alone.

"Kind of touchy, feely," Sam said aloud then curled over on to his side to go back to sleep.

He woke some time later thinking he hadn't been sleeping for long but his head felt better and his stomach had settled. With his mind clearer, he looked up at the ceiling and wondered what Derek meant when he said that it was possible to spot a shapeshifter without running the silver test on it. He was sure he'd never heard of that before but Derek seemed sure.

He thought about what he had seen as he stood on the patio watching the girl and Derek. She had been smiling and clutching her suitcase. Derek had been smiling too as he took her hand. Sam hadn't noticed any behavior from either one of them that hinted at the violence that was about to happen. Sam could still hear her squeal when Derek drove the knife in.

The first stab had knocked it down.

He remembered when Dean stabbed one and missed the heart and it had reared up with a punch that sent his brother flying three feet. Sam wondered why this one had crumpled.

He moved gingerly from the bed to find his cell. Wearing just boxers and a white t-shirt, he wondered which one of them had undressed him. He decided not to think about it.

He wanted to call Dean and ask him about the shapeshifter, but the sweats he had been wearing were not in the room and he couldn't find the phone. He was confident he had left the phone in his pocket. Irritated, Sam went into the closet, pulled out his last clean pair of jeans and slipped them on. He opened the bedroom door and headed into the living room. He was surprised that it was dark outside.

He padded his way into the kitchen where he hoped to find June. He didn't really want to see Derek and, in any case, didn't think the other man would have his phone.

The plush carpet beneath his feet felt soft, much nicer than the flooring in hotels. He turned into the kitchen where his luck continued its spectacular run.

"Hi Derek," Sam said.

Derek looked up from the computer screen in front of him.

"I'm looking for my cell. Do you know where it is?"

"Now you think I'm a thief?"

Sam put his hands up reflexively. "Uh, listen, Derek, I'm sorry about before. I didn't understand what I was seeing and then just a, a, massive headache, okay? I never meant to accuse you of anything."

"You sure? Cuz your dad trusts me. A lot of other hunters out there think I'm pretty good at what I do."

"I'm sure. If we can just…start over, okay?"

Derek leaned back with his arms crossed.

"Yeah, all right, Sammy. I don't want to tell your dad that I'm mad at you. I just can't have you getting in the way during a hunt and making it sound like I'm a killer or something."

Sam bristled. He was getting tired of the threats from Derek about running to Dad with everything. Obviously Derek thought Sam was a rotten hunter and a worse son but he didn't need to keep mentioning it.

"We'll let it go for now," Derek said. "Sorry though, I don't know where your phone is."

Sam nodded, disappointed. He really wanted to call Dean.

"Do you want to use mine? We don't have the house phone connected anymore."

"Thanks. If I can't find mine, I'll take you up on it. Do you know where June is?"

"Went to the store. She'll be back in an hour or so."

"Thanks. Um, I'm going to take a shower and go for a walk. Maybe grab some food."

"It's almost nine o'clock at night, Sam. Too late for a minor to be wandering around the city. There's a plate for you in the refrigerator."

"I'll be fine. I'm pretty self-sufficient so…"

"I said 'no', Sam. Eat what June left for you and go watch TV or read a book or something. Nobody wants you lurking around outside again."

Sam had had enough of getting needled. "I wasn't lurking last night and I'm not under house arrest. Use your phone to call my dad and tell on me if you want but I'm going out."

Derek shoved away from the table, his face turning red as his mouth turned into a snarl. With hands clenched into fists at his side he took a menacing step forward. Sam stood still, planting his feet and preparing to defend himself. His heart pounded loudly as he wondered how he'd fare against a body-building hunter.

"Don't test me, Sam."

Sam cocked his head a little and clicked his tongue. He didn't want to give in. Every part of him wanted to push this and prove that he wasn't under the control of another person. But, then what? He couldn't help asking himself what he'd do after the inevitable fight. Pushing, not knowing when to back down is what landed him in this situation.

Schooling his emotions, Sam shook his head. Anger still pumped through him with a generous helping of resentment but he fought it back.

"Fine. I'll stay in," he said softly, barely able to get the words out since they went against everything inside him.

"Good choice," Derek said, danger hinting around the edge of his words.

Sam spun around to leave when he remembered his phone. Taking a guess that June would leave it in the laundry room where she probably took his clothes he headed in that direction. He half-expected Derek to call him back but that didn't happen. Sam looked around the washing machine and the shelves but didn't find the phone. Hoping he was wrong he opened the washer where he recognized his black sweats amidst a bunch of other things. He pulled them out, hearing the clatter before he checked the pocket with a groan. His cell was sopping wet and clearly ruined. Sam rubbed his forehead in defeat. There was no way he was going to ask to use Derek's phone and now he couldn't go out and replace the ruined one.

Clutching the dripping cell, Sam made his way back to the guest room. He had been spending so much time there he was starting to feel claustrophobic. And now that he was back, he remembered that he was hungry. He flopped back on the bed and hoped that his father and Dean would return to pick him up soon.

**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS **

Sam woke up disoriented. It took a couple of minutes to focus on his surroundings and remember where he was. The faint glow of street lights filtered through the sheer curtain in the room. When a car drove by outside, the headlights illuminated the ballerina nightshade and Sam remembered everything.

Still dressed and lying on his back, he felt the damp chill brought on by rain. He rubbed his eyes then glanced at the clock on the dresser. It was after two in the morning. His stomach had woken him, demanding to be fed. He sat up, shoved his hair out of his face and headed back to the kitchen. The trek back and forth seemed like the only thing he had been doing since his arrival.

June and Derek had bedrooms on the same side of the house as the guest room so Sam flipped the kitchen switch on without fear of waking them. He squinted as the room lit up. Keeping one hand above his eyes to protect them against the overly bright light, he opened the refrigerator door. Sitting on the second shelf was a foil covered plate. Sam pulled it out and set it on the counter. As his vision adjusted he pulled off the foil to find another old chicken thigh with aged white rice. There was no vegetable this time. Sighing he popped the plate into the microwave.

Setting it for two minutes Sam wondered if they kept any snacks in the house. He started opening cupboards hoping to find a bag of chips or something. But, all he found were cans and dry goods, nothing to munch on.

The microwave beeped so Sam retrieved his dinner and sat down at the kitchen table. He scarfed down the chicken first then polished off the rice. Both were mostly tasteless and he was still hungry. Remembering the loaf of bread they had used to make sandwiches, Sam snatched the bag out of the wooden bread box. He re-found the peanut butter and made himself two sandwiches. Then he poured some milk and ate the second round of dinner.

Sated and restless, he put his plate in the sink, swiped the bread crumbs off the counter and dumped them in the trash. He grabbed a can of pop out of the refrigerator and started back towards the guest room to read.

He made it two steps when he heard something. Unable to identify it, he stopped to listen. A moment later the sound came again. Soft and high-pitched, someone was crying. Sam's first thought was that June was upset. Sam walked slowly back towards the kitchen then after a few steps, hesitated. He didn't want to embarrass her but he was curious. And maybe he could help. He kept going, keeping his footfalls soft figuring he could check on her then decide what to do after that.

He made it through the door and peered across the threshold into the laundry room. He stopped, eyes widening and heart picking up with a jolt at the sight that greeted him. Standing in front of the patio door and fumbling with the slide lock stood a young woman. Her back was to Sam but he could see stringy hair hanging down her back. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders with bare legs visible beneath it. He gasped audibly and she made a squeaking noise as she spun around. She turned back quickly, scrabbling at the lock and crying harder.

Sam swallowed hard as he moved toward her slowly. He kept his hands out, one empty, one holding a pop can and tried to appear as non-threatening as possible.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I can help you," he said.

She didn't respond in words but her panicked sobs grew louder until she finally popped the lock open and shoved the glass door across its track. She spilled out on to the patio, falling to her knees with a grunt.

"Wait, its okay," Sam said, darting forward.

Derek's voice broke above the sound of the wind and the girl's crying.

"What's going on?"

"She…she needs help," Sam answered and pointed to where the woman was kneeling and staring back at them with liquid eyes and hitching breath.

She clutched the blanket around herself but didn't get up.

"Damn it, Sam," Derek said, then to the girl. "Don't move."

Confused but starting to catch up with events, Sam turned sideways to get both the girl and Derek into view.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Neither he nor the girl noticed June until it was too late. She must have come up the steps from the outside because when Sam saw her she was on the patio deck wielding a bat. Her swing was true and she hit the girl in the back knocking her flat.

"No," Sam yelled out before he felt an arm close around his neck.

**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS **

Dean shoved his phone back in his pocket with a scowl. He felt his father's eyes on him but didn't say anything. He could guess the reception he'd get if he said he was worried about Sam.

The kid had only been out of their sight for a day and a half and Dean had spoken to him within that time. There was no reason to worry just because his cell phone went straight to voice mail.

Dad would tell Dean to get his mind back on the job and not to think so much about Sam. He'd say the kid was safe with trusted people and if anything was wrong, either Derek or June would call. He'd say that Sam was nearly an adult and did not need to be hovered over.

Even though Dean hadn't given his father a chance to say any of those things, Dean was still irritated. After all, Dad was the one who put Dean in charge of keeping Sam safe. If his father didn't want him to do the job right then he shouldn't have assigned the task to him.

Night had fallen in Watertown and it was time to break into the estate and try to draw the ghost out. The lingering energy from an adolescent girl named Leslie Bartholomay was their most likely suspect. In 1885, Lesley had just hit puberty when she fell down the steps inside the estate and broke her neck. Some early coverage of the accident suggested that she had been pushed by her stepmother. The police never confirmed it or made an arrest but, the stepmother, Rebecca, insisted that Lesley's ghost had tried to kill her. Rebecca died two years after Leslie and legend said her heart had stopped from fright.

Leslie's father interred his young daughter's bones in a crypt on the estate property where he and other family members eventually joined her. Then in 1974 the Watertown Historical Committee arranged to have the estate and grounds protected and turned the whole thing into a museum. For this reason, Dad didn't want to burn the girl's body unless they were certain that she was the ghost. Destroying a city tourist attraction and inviting arrest was too big a risk if they were wrong about the spirit's identity.

Breaking into the house, looking around and antagonizing the ghost to draw it out were necessary actions. Destroying the mortal remains of a twelve year old wasn't, at least not yet.

Dad called to Dean who was lingering near the trunk of the car. He followed his father up the cobble steps to the front door then picked the lock while Dad stood watch. Getting in was easy and they'd already disabled the alarm. Now if they could draw the ghost out, identify it and escape without being killed, they'd be all set.

Dad entered first with his sawed off loaded with iron rounds. Dean followed him in with his own rifle. He had made it himself when he was a teenager and it still worked perfectly.

In 1998, a young couple named Gary and Angela Milan purchased the estate from the historical society with the understanding that they could renovate but not change the historic value of the property. The attacks started about two months into the remodel. First a carpenter lost three fingers when an electric saw flew at him from across the room. Then a plumber found himself skewered through the abdomen by a lead pipe that acted like a missile. The last victim was the new owner. According to Gary Milan, he was tossed head first down a flight of stairs. His pretty wife, Angela, told them that he'd been attacked when he attempted to move an antique grandfather's clock.

The clock had belonged to Leslie's father and after studying some old photographs taken during renovations, Dean pointed out that the clock hadn't moved in more than a hundred years. If they were right about Leslie then there was a good chance that she liked things left the way they were.

Dad told Dean he intended to move some things around until he got a reaction. Dean's job was to protect his father.

"You ready?' Dad asked at the base of the stairs.

"Yes, sir," Dean answered, lowering the shotgun into position.

His father led the way up the main stairwell. Beautiful maple banisters curved in a slight angle on either side of the covered steps. A flat, navy colored rug wrapped down the middle from top to bottom. Wallpaper of blue flowers swirled in gray and silver over a burgundy background surrounded them on all sides. The wood creaked and groaned under their weight until they reached the top where the grandfather clock stood. About seven feet tall and built of dark wood, it had a huge round face with gold numbers painted in a swirling pattern. Long gold pendulums hung in the center of the case. Dean whistled softly at the art and mechanics of it.

Dad glanced back at him, waited until Dean was off the steps and then pushed the clock towards the edge.

"I'm going to shove it down the stairs," he said.

Dean knew he wasn't planning to do that but they both figured the ghost would object to the destruction of the clock.

"Destroy it," Dean said. "It's just an old piece of junk."

His father pushed slightly harder so the base of the clock hung a couple of inches over the edge.

"Just a little further," Dad said.

Dean felt the air change, like the feeling just before a lightning strike. A moment later the temperature plummeted and he could see his breath in the air.

"Dad."

"I know."

His father moved behind the clock, away from the steps. Dean turned in a slow circle looking for the spirit. She appeared directly in front of him with a mighty scream that made Dean want to cover his ears. Instead, he fired into her image with an iron round and she dissipated with another anguished cry.

"It's her, it's Lesley," Dad said.

He pushed the clock back on to solid ground just as she came back. She didn't attack him though. She swept past him and barreled into Dean. Dean managed to pump out another round but not before she tossed him several feet down the hall. He landed hard with a jarring thump that knocked the shotgun out of his hands. He heard Dad's running steps just before his father grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet while Dean scrabbled to pick up his weapon. He managed to get it into his hands when they were both struck from behind. It felt like a gust from a hurricane-strength wind and sent them tumbling.

Dad recovered first, still on the floor, he spun towards the spirit and blasted her again. Dean gripped his arms as Dad gripped Dean and they both stumbled to their feet and ran towards the stairs. His father was in the lead and about halfway down when the spirit slammed into them again. Dean grabbed for the banister in an attempt to keep from falling. The spirit lifted him slowly and while Dean yelled out in frustration, she dumped him over the edge.

The six foot drop ended with a jarring thud. He only vaguely heard the next shotgun blast and his father calling his name. Ears ringing and shoulder throbbing, Dean struggled to get up. He couldn't get his limbs coordinated as he rolled on to his knees. Shaking his head, he tried to force himself up but knew he was moving too slowly. Then he felt his father's hand dragging him up again. He stumbled along as he was tugged out the front door and down the porch steps.

"Are you all right?" Dad asked but Dean wasn't sorting all the words. "Dean! Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah," he pushed out, not certain it was true.

"Come on, son, shake it off. We have to burn her bones."

His father trotted off towards the mausoleum and Dean stumbled after him. Even with the alarms to the property disabled there was always the possibility of security guards, a stray police patrol or even an overzealous employee. Leslie might take exception to having her earthly remains incinerated too. In any event, he knew that Dad needed back up.

Head ringing and eyesight blurry, Dean just followed instinctively knowing that he would be able to take care of his aches and pains in a couple of hours.

His father popped the lock on the mausoleum door just as Dean reached him. They entered quickly and closed the door behind them to keep their presence secret.

"Here we go," Dad said.

The caskets were laid side by side by side and each one was labeled. Leslie had been the first to be interred. Since she still resided in her original box, it only took a moment to break through the rotting wood. All that remained of the twelve year old was rotting bones and a disintegrating dress. Dad sprayed her thoroughly with lighter fluid while Dean tried to concentrate on guarding him. His mind kept drifting though as did his vision.

When the cold air turned chillier and the energy electrified around him, Dean wasn't prepared. Like getting caught in a wind tunnel he felt the air hit him and he flew into the wall of the crypt. He felt the bounce and then the fall. He scrambled up to his knees, reaching for the sawed off that he dropped again. He heard the blast from his father's gun and then the flare as Leslie burst into flames, both her bones and her spirit. She screamed her anguish before she disappeared.

"What the hell, Dean," Dad chastised him.

Dean didn't respond. His mind wasn't willing to supply an answer.

Then he felt his father picking him up again, wrapping an arm around his waist and leading him back to the car. Dean thought he might be talking but whatever his father was saying, the words were lost in his garbled mind.

**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS **


	4. Chapter 4

Shadows From the Dim Hereafter

By: CoffeeManiac

Not Slash. Rated T for some mature content.

Warnings: Violence. Hints at sensitive subject matter. Lots of HurtSam. Some HurtDean. This story is not labeled as horror, however, towards the end, there are a couple of short, but fairly gruesome descriptions so, please be prepared.

A/N: Thank you to those who are "following" and making this story a "favorite". And a special thank you to those who have sent reviews. It makes my day brighter to see the interest in this story.

**Part 4**

Sam blinked a couple of times as he pushed himself off the cold floor. His head hurt again. His throat hurt too. He reached up to move hair out of his face and was surprised by the clanking of metal. He couldn't make sense of that so he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. When there was nothing there to rest against, he jerked forward and forced himself to look around. Frowning at his wrists, he found chains encircling them like handcuffs. At the base of the cuffs, a short lead attached to some weird metal belt around his waist. He followed the next link of metal down to his ankles which were also encircled. A shorter chain attached the ends to keep him from pulling his legs apart more than a few inches.

Understanding escaped him as he re-examined the contraption again. He twisted back and forth slowly trying to figure things out. He was sitting in the middle of a small, dank room with stone walls and a hard-packed dirt floor. Still wearing just a thin t-shirt and jeans, he shivered in the damp cold.

Webs and cobwebs hung from the corners and across the stones. He spotted a few spiders hovering there, as well as some insects that scurried along the creases.

A scratching noise led him to find a rat scurrying its way back and forth near the wall in a frenzied dance. Sam thought it might have been poisoned because of the way it was panicking.

The chains attached to his waist limited his ability to move but didn't restrain him, so he used the slack to get on to his knees and then slowly stand up. He was hunched over and hobbled but not secured to anything that would keep him in place.

He looked behind him to find another room. The entry way to it was carved out about three feet above the floor and there were no steps leading there. Sam guessed it was an old coal room from when the house was heated by a furnace. That thinking cemented his theory that he was in the basement of June's house.

To his right, he found a metal cot with no mattress, just a thin pillow lying on metal springs.

In front of him, Sam found three crumbling steps leading to a narrow platform that ended at a wooden door. That seemed like his best bet for escape.

He shuffled to the steps then climbed them slowly. With a shortened stride, he almost knocked himself over but caught his balance in time. He reached for the door handle and turned the knob only to find it locked which didn't surprise him but he couldn't help wondering what that meant. He had no idea why he was there and didn't remember much past seeing the frightened girl in the laundry room.

He wondered if Derek and June were dead or captured by whatever attacked the girl.

He didn't have lock picks with him or a credit card to slide into the slot. He didn't have a paperclip either, though he had just started learning to improvise and he wasn't as skilled as Dean at getting through locks with just anything that was handy.

The door itself was flimsy and made of cheap wood. He stepped back then rammed it with his full body weight. The impact sounded like thunder and the door shifted just a bit. Satisfied with his plan, Sam stepped back to try again. He didn't know what lay beyond the door or how much trouble he'd be in if he failed to get passed whoever locked him in. All he knew was that staying chained and locked up was not acceptable.

Just as he started to force the door again, he heard noise outside. It sounded like someone coming down the cement steps. Sam jumped off the platform and steadied himself for whatever fight might be necessary.

He breathed out in relief when June stepped into the room followed by Derek.

"Oh, thank God, I was afraid you guys were dead or something."

Derek bypassed June and jumped off the platform. He shoved Sam in the shoulder knocking him backward several steps.

"Stop with the door," Derek said. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to hang a door?"

"What?" Sam stuttered out as he regained his balance.

"Don't make me tie you down. It'll just make it harder on all of us."

"I don't…you guys…why?"

"Because you couldn't just stay in your room. Why do you think?"

"Derek," June interrupted. "There's no need to speak to him that way. He's just a boy and he doesn't understand."

Derek shook his head and scowled as June walked by him and up to Sam. She put her hand under the lead chain and against Sam's chest and started rubbing circles there.

"It's going to be all right, Sam, I'm going to take care of you."

Not liking the intimacy, Sam pulled away from her.

"What's going on?" He asked.

June frowned for a moment then her smile returned.

"The girl that you saw is a monster, Sam. Derek and I are trying to cure her. But, we know that other hunters won't understand so we don't talk about it."

Sam shook his head. "What kind of monster? She looks like an ordinary girl. And she looked terrified."

"She's a monster. Take my word for it," Derek barked out.

"No, I mean, I don't, look, just tell me what kind. Another shapeshifter? What is she?"

"She's a witch," Derek said.

"Witches are human. Is she killing people?"

"Of course," June said. She reached out to lay her hand on Sam's arm

"What kind of spells is she casting? Who's getting hurt?"

Derek surged forward so that he was standing toe to toe with Sam. "We're doing what needs to be done."

Sam wanted to step back but he didn't. His father and Dean had taught him to never back down and he learned the lesson well.

"You can't just kidnap humans."

Derek grabbed his shirt in both hands and shoved him backward. Sam hit the wall with a jarring thud. He tried to push back but Derek outweighed him and the chains on his arms and legs hobbled him. He heard June yell an objection but her brother didn't seem to hear her.

"You're a child," Derek spit. "A baby. No wonder I had to choke you out. I expect more from John Winchester's son."

The memory of having an arm around his neck, cutting off his air, dropped back into Sam's mind and then he remembered June knocking the girl senseless with a bat.

"Get off him," June said, pulling on Derek's arm.

Derek gave Sam an angry smile before he shoved him into the wall again and let go. Sam drank in air. His legs were shaking.

June glared at her brother as he moved a few feet away. She turned to Sam and cupped his cheek in her hand. "I'm sorry. He shouldn't have done that."

Afraid of the answer but needing to know, Sam asked. "Why am I down here? What are you going to do?"

"You ask too many questions," Derek said. "Maybe you need a little time on your own down here. Learn some manners."

"Better idea," Sam said. "How about you call my dad and tell him to come get me. Or I can just leave. I can find a phone and call them. No big deal."

Derek and June exchanged a look that Sam didn't like. Derek shook his head. "No, that's not going to work."

When Derek stalked up to him this time, June took a step away. With his back already at the wall, Sam didn't have any place to go. His heart thudded in his chest as he fully expected Derek to kill him.

He surged forward, ramming into the larger man with all his weight. Derek barely budged and Sam felt like he hit a tree. Derek shoved him back by his shoulders, grabbed his shirt again and drew back a fist.

"Wait…" Sam said but he didn't get past that word. Derek slugged him fast and he went down.

**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS **

Sam groaned into waking noticing an aching jaw before anything else. He wondered where Dean was as he blinked at the wooden beams of the ceiling. Spider webs were caught in all the corners and crevices. He wondered if his father was coming to pick him up. He didn't like the smell of the room or the damp air surrounding him. Cold had crept into his bones and he wanted a jacket. Slowly he turned his head, trying not to jar his face too much since it felt like he'd repeatedly run into a wall.

Everything seemed to shimmer for a second like a watery filter separated the room from his vision and then his eyes cleared and he could see again. He was still in the basement of June and Derek's house. Stone and dim light were the only things to see. A steady drip of water slithered down the wall and made a faint splat noise when it hit the dirt floor.

Sam sighed. He hadn't been left on the floor again. Now he was lying on the narrow cot with a lumpy pillow beneath his head and bare springs beneath his back. When he shifted the bed frame creaked and squeaked. The springs poked painfully in his back. He checked the chains around him and found the same weird belt contraption holding his hands and legs. He pushed over towards his side in order to sit up but stopped short when the belt pulled at his waist. Confused he yanked his body forward only to have the whole bed jerk against the floor with a loud rattle. He tried again, no doubt bruising his midriff in the process but the bed moved with him and it became obvious that the restraint was now attached to it.

They had secured him into one place, one uncomfortable, scratchy place. He figured they knew he wouldn't leave the door alone.

He yanked a few times with no result. Then he twisted to try and see what they used to hold him but it was something going from the middle of his back to the bed. It wasn't hard to guess that something was attached to the back of the belt that attached to the springs or frame.

He lied back down, breathless and frustrated.

"Think, Sam," he said out loud.

He tried to scrunch down the other direction to get his feet on the floor. He thought he might be able to lift the whole cot against his back, wear it like a turtle shell and get to the door. But there was no give in the restraint. He moved a couple of inches before the belt shifted up and dug into his ribs which also dragged his legs up a couple of inches.

"Well, crap," he said.

He tested the chains on his wrists and legs and how they attached to the belt. They were still metal, heavy and immovable.

His head thumped unpleasantly while his stomach sent warnings that vomiting might happen. He thought about what it would be like to lay with puke around his head and that made his stomach churn more violently.

"Okay, think about something else," he said.

The cellar didn't echo but there was a leaden quality to his voice as it hit the empty room. Desperate to focus on something innocuous, he took a moment to consider the way sound works. All he had were facts gleaned from a textbook. Sound is dependent on the shape and dimensions of a room. There are areas of a room where wave pressure is highest and lowest. A sound wave is a disturbance. The wave travels, the disturbed particles don't. Sam tried to remember what else he knew about sound but his head refused to spit out any other facts.

Hearing footsteps on the other side of the door drove away his frustration at that and kicked fear into its place.

June came through carrying a wicker basket on her arm. She had changed her clothes and was wearing a yellow dress that showed her knees. Sleeveless and light weight, it didn't look right for the weather. Sam noticed the yellow polish on her fingernails. He wondered if she needed to dress up when involved in kidnapping.

June smiled as she stared at him.

"What now?" Sam demanded.

"Relax," she said.

She knelt beside him. He heard the basket scuff against the floor as she set it down. Her hands reached into the basket then came back with a bottle of water.

"You must be thirsty," she said.

Sam hadn't noticed it before but, he did now.

She unscrewed the plastic cap. "Sit up a little."

Sam followed directions and she put one hand under his back for support. She put the bottle to his lips and let him drink for a long time. When she took it away, he felt better. She continued holding some of his weight and it occurred to him that she was surprisingly strong. He was skinny but he still weighed fifty pounds more than her.

"There now," she said. "Are you hungry?"

He was but he didn't want her to feed him.

"Can you just let my hands loose? I can feed myself."

"No, Sam," she said, sounding disappointed. "I'm not sure your stomach is ready for solids anyway. You've been knocked unconscious several times now so your body needs a little time to adjust."

"Yeah, but…"

"No, no, no. Don't argue with me. I've been taking care of hurt hunters for years now."

Sam's back hurt from leaning forward so when she put a hand on his shoulder and pressed him back he didn't fight. He did get a weird feeling of alarm when she leaned over him and touched his face. Her fingers were soft as she traced his cheek and then his jaw. The bruise on his chin tingled under her hand. When she continued down to his neck, Sam flinched away from her.

Angry at the unwelcome familiarity, he said, "Hey. You want to stop touching me now?"

She didn't take her hand from his skin but she stopped moving. "Sam, I'm being nice, that's all. Just making sure Derek didn't hurt you."

"I'm fine. I'd be better if you just let me out of here."

She scoffed as she sat back on her knees. "I can't do that. We've already explained."

"No, June, you haven't. Look, I get it, you're hunters and you want to get the monsters before they get you. Sure. Fine. Whatever works, okay? But, you can't keep me down here like this. Let me go before this thing spirals out any further."

"There's no need to be rude, Sam. I'm an adult and I'm trying to help you."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You kidnapped me."

"Now, you're just being petulant."

"You've got me trussed up like I'm a runaway from a chain gang and you think I'm being petulant?"

"My point, Sam, is that you should know that I can make things much worse for you. Try and appreciate the little kindnesses. They might not last forever."

She stood abruptly and brushed down her dress, apparently getting rid of wrinkles or something. She snatched her basket up and walked out of the basement.

Sam slammed his head against the pillow and cursed. A moment later he realized that he needed a bathroom. He cursed again.

**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS **

John reclined on the small sofa with his feet up and a beer in his hand. The television sitting on the other side of the table was silent and dark. John switched it off after the news reported two missing sisters. Seeing the parents tearfully plead for the return of their children was more than he could take.

John scratched his head before digging the cell phone out of his pocket. He dialed then listened to one ring before Sam's voicemail greeting told him to leave a message. John clicked off. That was his third attempt to reach his youngest with no answer and no call back. He figured Sam must be really angry to ignore him like that. It wasn't normal for him to cut off communications. But, then it wasn't normal for John to strike him either. John thought he may have crossed a line that he couldn't come back from.

Regardless of Sam's irritation however, John still needed to know how his son was doing. He scrolled through the numbers until he found June Fisher. He pressed the call button and waited through three more rings before she answered.

"Hi John, is everything alright?" she asked. She sounded like she was annoyed but trying to hide it.

"Yeah. Just trying to reach Sam."

"Oh, it's so late I thought maybe there was a problem."

John twisted around to see the bed where Dean snored softly. An ice pack lay on the floor and an open bottle of Tylenol sat on the bedside table. Behind the Tylenol, a clock told him the time was after midnight. John knew he should probably apologize but he didn't.

"I wanted to let Sam know that we'll pick him up the day after tomorrow."

"So soon?" John ignored her question.

"How's he doing?"

"Oh, you know how teenagers can be. He's a little grumpy, I guess. But, he's been helpful when we've asked."

"I can leave in the morning if you need him picked up sooner. We finished earlier than I expected so…"

"Don't be silly, John, you know how much I like Sam. I'm surprised you're picking up as soon as you are."

John looked at Dean again. He wanted to retrieve Sam but he needed to take care of his oldest too.

"Well, if you're sure. Dean got a little banged up on the job and I'd like to give him a day to rest."

"That's too bad. Is he all right?" Something in the way she answered gave John the impression that she was just being polite.

"Nothing serious but sleep will do him good."

"Then you should let him rest. I can let Sam know your plans."

"Yeah, June, why isn't he answering his phone? All I'm getting is voicemail."

"He made a mistake, I'm afraid. I was washing his clothes and I didn't realize that he left the phone in his pocket. I took it apart to try and dry the parts but for now it's broken."

"Damn it," John said. He had told the boys over and over to take care of their things. There wasn't money to replace carelessness.

"Then I'll just go ahead and give him the message. All right?" June said.

"Is he nearby? I'd like to talk to him."

"It's the middle of the night, John, he's asleep."

"I guess he would be. Um, I'll try again in the morning."

"That'll be fine. Sleep well. Look after Dean."

John listened to June's disconnect and set his phone down on the coffee table. He wished he had insisted that June wake Sam. He really wanted to hear his voice.

Despite all the fighting and the well-worn line between them, John loved Sam. He couldn't imagine life without both of his boys. He grew tired of the bickering and Sam's need for constant explanations. He hated listening to all the reasons why Sam despised his life. He couldn't understand why his youngest had to be so disagreeable all the time. But, that didn't erode John's feelings for the boy.

Dean had experienced growing pains. He pushed John's limits sometimes. He went through the sullen teenager phase. He went through the "know-it-all" phase too. But, Dean never attacked John. He seemed to understand that John was always trying to do the right thing. Dean accepted that their unusual lifestyle was necessary in order to save people and to find what killed Mary.

Sam had spent his early years trying to fit into that life too. He wanted to be like Dean. But, when puberty took over, Sam started questioning everything. His sharp, inquisitive mind turned from wondering "what if" to demanding change. Every day turned into a battle over something and it was exhausting.

John couldn't pinpoint what made him snap and hit Sam though. The boy wasn't saying anything new or more damaging than any other day. John was tired and slightly hung over. He was frustrated by the lack of any new leads regarding the monster that killed Mary. He guessed the combination was bad.

When Sam unloaded on him one more time, John lost control. It was something he had almost done before but managed to pull back in time. But, that last fight had been one too many and he struck out. And Sam, being Sam, couldn't stop talking. Shock and anger filled his tone as his face reddened but he didn't stop the barrage and John struck again.

He was as surprised as Sam.

When Dean appeared, the moment broke and John walked away from them filled with shame but still furious that he'd been pushed that far.

The decision to leave Sam with June came easy. He needed a break from the fighting or he'd risk losing control again. Dropping Sam off in a safe place while he and Dean worked a hunt was the best way to provide distance and perspective for all of them.

John groaned as he stood up to throw away the empty beer bottle. He stretched his arms over his head feeling the give of taut muscles and sighed. He walked over to the bed to check on Dean, dropping the bottle in the trash can as he passed.

Placing his hand on Dean's forehead, he was glad to find no evidence of a fever. He didn't expect any. Dean had a concussion. His eyes had looked clear, he hadn't been confused and only a brief bout with nausea had told John that it was a minor one. A couple of Tylenol and some bed rest would resolve his injury. The bumps and bruises were nothing serious. Dean would be sore for a couple of days but he'd heal fine.

If they had a job, John wouldn't have taken a day off but with the Bartholomay ghost settled and nothing pressing to go to next, he figured he'd give Dean a day to rest. The twenty-year old might think he's invincible but John knew better.

With Sam safely tucked in with June and Derek there was no rush to get back to Minnesota.

**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS **


	5. Chapter 5

Shadows From the Dim Hereafter

By: CoffeeManiac

Not Slash. Rated T for some mature content.

Warnings: Violence. Hints at sensitive subject matter. Lots of HurtSam. Some HurtDean. This story is not labeled as horror, however, towards the end, there are a couple of short, but fairly gruesome descriptions so, please be prepared.

A/N: Thank you to those who are "following" and making this story a "favorite". And a special thank you to those who have sent reviews. It makes my day brighter to see the interest in this story. A shout out to the guest who reviewed this story. Your feedback was great and well appreciated.

**Part 5**

Sam flinched when he heard movement on the steps coming down to the basement. He lifted his head to see June step through the door with Derek following closely behind her. Not much time had passed since June's previous departure, maybe half an hour or so, but Sam was relieved to see them. Cramps had begun setting in from holding his bladder in check.

Derek carried a straight back chair that looked like it belonged to the larger set in the kitchen. All blond wood with slats down the back, it reminded Sam of the cheap motel furniture that he normally shared with his family.

Derek set the chair down next to the cot near Sam's head. Then he reached down to pull on the restraints contraption that rested on Sam's abdomen.

"I need a bathroom," Sam said.

"Figured," Derek said. He pointed towards the elevated recess in the basement. "There's a toilet up there. I'm going to let you go alone. There're no windows or doors or anything back there so you can't get away. Just do what you have to do and come right back. Don't screw this up, Sam or next time, we'll just leave you to piss yourself. Clear?"

Sam swallowed and nodded. "Clear."

As Derek slipped a small key into the lock holding the restraints in place, Sam watched each move. He hoped that by knowing how it worked, he might be able to find something to open the lock and then release himself. It wasn't a difficult mechanism but he'd need something to use as a pick and with his wrists bound, it'd take some acrobatics even with a paperclip or some other tool.

Derek lied on the floor, scooted under the cot and released the chain holding Sam to the bed. Then he stood up, slipped the chains off Sam's wrists, loosened and slipped the chains off his ankles. He left the waist band in place. After being held down for so long, sitting up took some effort and Sam's body protested but he didn't express any complaint. He was just relieved to be free and moments away from using a bathroom.

When he stood up, June blocked his way and gave him a small smile as she took his hands and rubbed her fingers against his wrists. Sam pulled away from her, stopping just short of shoving her.

"There's no need for rudeness when I'm trying to help you," she said.

"Still kidnapped," Sam said, pointing towards himself.

Her face turned stony with anger. Sam skirted around her.

He put one foot on the elevated opening and planted his hand on the wall to pull up into the recess. A few feet to his right he saw a curtain hanging so he headed in that direction. The walls on either side of him were concrete and featureless. More webs, more bugs but as Derek had told him there were also no windows or doors. Sam pulled back the curtain to find a single toilet with no accompanying sink. The toilet was clean which surprised him. June clearly showed no interest in keeping the basement as tidy as the rest of the house but, apparently, she wanted a hygienic commode.

After using the toilet and flushing, Sam heard Derek calling to him. He sighed and wondered WWDD. A few years earlier the phrase "What would Jesus do?" became popular but for Sam it was always, "What would Dean do?"

For one thing, Sam was pretty sure Dean wouldn't be intimidated by the threat of not using a proper toilet as needed. Dean would take advantage of being unbound and probably turn into a Ninja that was capable of defeating someone who was heavier, had the same defense training and was slightly insane. Sam rubbed his eyes. Derek called out again.

"Here we go," Sam said out loud and quietly started his journey back to the main basement.

He stayed close to the wall, hoping that Derek wouldn't be watching too closely. He figured the other man would be standing near the threshold. Sam crept along, planning to jump off the three foot platform and tackle Derek. With surprise on his side, he might be able to overpower him enough to allow an escape. He actually felt pretty confident of that part of his plan. The main concern plaguing him was June. She was also a trained hunter and wouldn't likely stay out of the fight.

But, Sam was strong and trained too. He hoped one good blow to the head would knock her down.

Skimming along with his belly to the wall, he tried to see into the main cellar. He could see June sitting on the chair beside the cot but Derek wasn't visible. He waited another moment but knew that one of them would come looking for him if he took too much time.

When Derek failed to come into view, Sam took a deep breath. He rushed into the entryway, taking a quick look to find him. But, he wasn't there and June jumped up instead. For the briefest of moments, Sam counted himself lucky then he yelled out when Derek slammed into his back sending both of them over the short drop.

Sam landed with an "oomph", feeling the air drive out of his lungs. Derek slammed on top of him then rolled off. He grabbed Sam's tee shirt and dragged him on to his back. Sam drew up blindly with his fists but Derek blocked him easily and slugged him on the left side of his face. The pain radiated from his cheek up and his vision grayed. Derek swung again and Sam blocked with his forearm only to have Derek land another forcible blow to his chest. Nausea swept through him as the darkness edged through his consciousness.

Sam batted weakly at Derek's hands when the older man lifted him off the floor by his shirt. Sam struggled in his grip only to get a knee in the stomach that made him gasp and his eyes water.

"Wait," he sputtered when Derek cruelly kneed him again and dropped him.

Sam curled into a ball, protecting his middle and trying to breathe. Derek kicked him in the leg then again in the lower back.

Like an echo he heard June yelling and the beating stopped. Sam stayed on the floor, eyes squeezed tight and taking air in desperate gasps. He swallowed over and over trying to keep from vomiting.

Panic swept through him when Derek grabbed him under the arms and pulled him off the floor. Sam scrambled his legs trying to get purchase but they were like loose spaghetti. Derek shoved him on to the cot so he was sitting then pushed him over. Realizing he was going to chain him down again, Sam surged up only to have Derek backhand him on to his side.

June joined her brother's efforts overwhelming Sam's admittedly weak defense and soon had him lying on his back, trussed up on the hard springs again.

Sam panted through the pain in his face and body, depression pushed over him as he found himself trapped again. He turned carefully toward his captors who were staring down at him like he was a bug pinned to a board.

"Do you have any idea what his father will do when he sees this?" June asked as she continued looking at Sam.

Derek stared too, with something like regret on his face. "He'll heal. The swelling, the bruising …we'll get some ice and…"

"He'll kill us."

"I'm not afraid of John Winchester."

June shook her head as she looked up at Derek. "You should be. Especially if you want things to stay the same around here."

"Get some ice and we'll see if we can delay his pick up for a few days," Derek said. "Give the kid a chance to heal up. If he doesn't look so bad maybe we can talk our way out of it. His father thinks Sam is just another pain-in-the-ass teenager. If we can convince him that nothing happened, that Sam is making up stories, then maybe…"

Sam listened to their words knowing that it wouldn't happen like that. When his father and Dean arrived, Sam would tell them about the girl in the laundry room and the girl that Derek killed and all the crap they were doing to Sam. Both would believe him because the one thing the Winchesters valued above all else was family.

"They're coming day after tomorrow. He won't be better that fast," June insisted.

Sam's eyes widened. _Just one more day._

"Then we'll tell them he picked a fight. We'll tell them I was just defending myself and he got hurt. They'll believe that."

Sam considered telling them that their plan was crap but he couldn't see how that would be in his best interest. Now, he knew he just had to stay alive for another day.

June looked between Sam and her brother. Sounding calmer, she said, "I'll take care of him. You go settle down. If you lose your temper like this again, you could kill him."

Derek grumbled something that Sam couldn't understand before he walked out the door and up the steps.

June patted Sam's shoulder. "I'll be right back."

Sam swallowed back a response. For some reason, he was channeling Dean. The only thing in his head was angry sarcasm.

He deflated against the pillow, feeling his face throbbing with his heartbeat. A deep ache radiated through his torso reminding him of when he fell out of a tree a few years earlier. He tried to take a deep breath but stopped short when a sharp pain stabbed through his chest. He gasped at the jab thinking something might be broken.

While he waited for June's promised return he wondered at their conversation. The idea that they'd be able to convince Dean and dad that Sam was lying was ridiculous. All of them had been friends for years so both June and Derek should know better. Either they were wishful thinkers or they had left the land of reality.

The idea that his bruises and injuries would heal within a day was equally ridiculous. Humans heal at a fairly regular rate. No one would expect him to be visibly better that quickly. Unless…

The thought thumped into him like an unexpected door to the face.

June re-appeared then. Sam hadn't heard her come back. He pushed back on the cot as if he could get away from her.

On one arm, she carried the same wicker basket from before and in her hands she cradled a plastic bowl of water. She set her supplies down on the floor then scooted the chair around to sit closer and face him.

"Let me clean that blood up and then we'll see what we're dealing with," she said.

"I'm all right," he said, not wanting to feel her hands on him.

"So brave," she said, gently.

June used a warm cloth to wash his face. Sam bit back a groan as the material brushed against his new bruises and cuts. Her impassive expression unnerved him and he wished she'd finish up. He jerked away when she rubbed his cheek. A stinging pain drove into his eye and through his face.

"Just another minute, Sam," she said as she continued washing the same area.

Sam squeezed his hands into fists, afraid to close his eyes and let her out of his sight.

It felt like a long time before she finally stopped. She sat back with a smile.

"Much better. Now, just a little disinfectant."

She reached back into her basket and withdrew something in a brown bottle. He lifted his arms to stop her but they had shortened the chain. He yanked on it in frustration but didn't gain anything.

June patted his chest and stroked a hand through his hair. "its okay, Sam. It won't be that bad."

"Let me go, June. You're better than this. We're friends, aren't we?"

He didn't know what she was but he was hoping to reach some part of her that might be left.

"Of course. That's why I'm helping you. Ready?"

She shook the bottle and he could hear liquid splash inside. Even though he knew that it was important to disinfect a wound, Sam was afraid. Not of the pain, he'd been through this before. But, when Dean or his father treated him for some injury, it was different than this. No matter what words she spoke, he had the feeling she wanted to hurt him.

"It's all right," she said as she soaked a cotton ball.

Sam stiffened in anticipation. He gritted his teeth and sucked air in when she dabbed at his face. The chemical burned into his skin and radiated into his eye. He turned his head away but she just followed, reaching over him and rubbing the disinfectant in circles over the wound. When she finally sat back, Sam's skin was covered in a fine sweat and he was breathing hard.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Let me out of here," Sam yelled as anger swept through him. "You crazy bitch, just let me the hell out of here."

June recoiled from his outburst. Her face reddened and her lips thinned but Sam didn't care. He just wanted out.

"Your temper won't do anything to help you here," she warned.

"You know what? Eat me."

June stood up. She straightened her dress then pulled the elastic wrap from around her ponytail. She finger-combed her hair and replaced it. With a soft exhale she sat back down.

"All right, Sam, I'm going to let that go because I know you're upset. But, you'll need to settle down and mind your manners from now on or I'll have to gag you. I don't want to do that so don't make me, all right?"

That caught him short. He didn't want to be gagged. With effort he swallowed back any other words and shoved his anger into a hole.

"Okay, here," she reached back in her basket and pulled out a bottle of water.

Slipping an arm under his head, she pulled him up a few inches and put the plastic against his lips. He was struck again by her strength as she poured the liquid slowly into his mouth. She took it away too soon but Sam didn't complain as she removed her support and let him fall back.

"Can you just let one of my arms free? I can drink and eat on my own if…"

"No, Sam."

"The lock for this belt thing is under the springs. I can't get to it. There's no reason…"

"Please. You're a Winchester and you're very clever. I won't risk you hurting yourself while you try or, God forbid, actually figure something out."

"June, this is crazy. Can't you see how crazy this is?"

"Let's check those ribs, all right?"

Sam closed his eyes. He didn't want her hands on him. He didn't want her to check anything. Whether she was a shapeshifter or a demon or ghost-possessed human, he didn't want her anywhere near him.

"I'm fine."

"Just making sure."

Sam rolled his eyes when she pushed his tee shirt up across his abdomen and tucked the bunched material above the belt and over his chest. She ran light fingers over his belly that tickled uncomfortably.

"Stop," Sam said, seriously.

"There are some bruises here." She pushed into his skin and Sam grunted as she unfailingly prodded his sensitized flesh. "I'm sorry, does that hurt?"

Sam didn't think she was sorry but he couldn't understand why she seemed attracted to him but wanted to cause him pain too.

She slid her fingers under the belt and under the shirt. "Uh-oh," she said. "I think Derek did some damage here."

Sam gasped when she pushed against a bone. His head swam with the sudden stab.

"Broken, I think," she said.

"Okay, okay, stop. Just stop pushing on it."

She withdrew her hands and tugged his shirt down. She cupped his face in her hand and caressed his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I needed to know how badly you were hurt."

"I don't…you don't…" He stopped himself from saying anything else. Accusing her didn't seem smart. She seemed satisfied for the moment.

"You're a very good looking boy, Sam. I think you know that I like you. And I think you know that you've been flirting with me."

Confusion swamped him at her words. After her examination, he was still trying to get a grip on the pain she caused but her accusation cut through that.

"I didn't…I haven't. You're like forty or something, aren't you?"

"I understand how that can seem strange at your age but, Sam, age is just experience. I think that's what you want from me. I can give it to you too."

WWDD?

Since puberty, Dean spent a lot of time with a lot of girls. Attraction trumped affection. In fact, Dean didn't want relationships as much as he wanted entertainment.

But, would Dean return interest in a situation like this? While Sam wasn't willing to be the victim of a woman more than twice his age, he wasn't willing to be a participant either. Would Dean go along? Would he enjoy the moment even while he schemed? Would Dean use it to his advantage? If she wanted to have sex, wouldn't she have to untie him? Would Dean agree just to get free?

Sam's stomach turned at the thought of her. She already spent too much time with her hands on him. Did he really want to invite more? Could he manage to let her if it meant getting out of the chains?

A light rap on the head brought him out of his thoughts. She had thumped him with her knuckles.

"Don't think so much. This is supposed to be fun."

"This isn't fun. You're a perverted freak."

Sam realized his mistake a moment after speaking. The room couldn't have turned colder if a spirit had been materializing. The stone mask that June donned whenever she was upset fell firmly into place as she stood up. The chair tipped over behind her.

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Dean rolled over slowly, letting his aching head adjust to movement. Daylight, gray and dull, peeked through the blinds covering the hotel window. Dean's hand fumbled around on the night stand until it closed on his cell phone. He flipped open the cover to check the time and found it was still early, not yet 7:30. He glanced towards the second bed where he found his father sleeping on one side, his arms crossed and his mouth open. The only sound was soft snoring.

Dean frowned when he checked for messages on his phone but found his incoming box empty.

He scratched his head then his chest then swung his legs from under the covers and padded into the bathroom. After using the facilities, he pressed the speed dial for Sam but it went to voicemail without ringing. Dean rubbed his chin. That wasn't normal. The surge of worry sent a dizzying spike through his skull and he had to hang on to the bathroom counter for a moment in order to get his balance back. Once the pain faded his legs wobbled weakly but he only waited another moment before going back into the main room.

He moved slowly but picked up his duffle and dug out clean clothes. He took them plus his shaving kit into the bathroom. Knowing the water would wake his father, Dean turned the knobs anyway.

After taking a quick shower, he stepped out then shaved. He brushed his teeth and dressed in jeans and a long sleeved blue t-shirt before going back out to face his father's wrath.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Dad asked, sounding annoyed more than angry.

"Time to go get Sammy. Figured you'd want to get on the road."

Dad was lying on his back, blankets pulled up to his chest and staring at the ceiling.

"Actually, I was thinking we could stay here another night so you could rest up. You took a pretty good knock to the head, son."

"I'm okay. Ready to hit the road."

"What's your hurry? Sammy's fine. I called last night."

"You talked to Sam?"

Dad rolled his eyes as he turned on to his side. He pushed up to lean on one arm. "I talked to June. Sam's cell went through the wash and isn't working."

"Why didn't he come to the phone?"

"He was sleeping. I called pretty late."

"Then you didn't talk to him."

Annoyance laced Dad's tone. "No. As I said, I spoke with June."

Dean shook his head as he rolled his dirty clothes into a ball. He threw them into his duffle.

"Yeah, that's not…you know what, let's just go get him."

"Dean, you're practically falling over. You should be sleeping, not packing."

Dean sat down on the bed. His head pounded out a sickening rhythm. He knew he was pushing his luck. His father normally preferred to be obeyed not questioned. Dean figured he was getting some slack because of the concussion. His father might feel guilty about the fight with Sam too.

"I can sleep in the car," Dean said.

"What's the rush? He's safe where he is."

Dean shuffled across the bed to sit on the side facing his father.

"I have a bad feeling," he said, seriously.

"You have a head injury."

"No, not like that. There's something about June, I don't know, it doesn't feel right."

Dad scrunched up his eyes in a familiar way, part scowl, part thinking.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Spidey-sense." Dean shrugged. "You always say we should listen to our instincts."

"On hunts, Dean," he specified, irritably. Then his voice became more thoughtful. "I've known June and Derek for years. So have you. We've been to their house a dozen times. Stayed overnight there."

"But, you think something's off too, don't you?"

Dad rolled over on to his back. Dean started to think he wasn't going to answer.

Then he said, "I haven't spoken to Sam since we dropped him off. I know he's angry but it's not like him."

"I've only talked to him once and I don't have any missed calls. He's not mad at me."

Dad sat up, swung his legs to the floor and rubbed his face.

"All right, finish packing up. I'll grab a quick shower and we'll head out."

"Yes, sir."

Dean watched his father disappear into the bathroom. He sighed. If necessary, he would have stolen the keys and left on his own. He was glad it hadn't come to that.

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	6. Chapter 6

Shadows From the Dim Hereafter 

By: CoffeeManiac

Not Slash. Rated T for some mature content.

Warnings: Violence. Hints at sensitive subject matter. Lots of HurtSam. Some HurtDean. This story is not labeled as horror, however, towards the end, there are a couple of short, but fairly gruesome descriptions so, please be prepared.

Heads up: Mind the warning about gruesome.

Thanks again for the great feedback and reviews. And to the "follows" and "favorites".

**Part 6**

Sam groaned when his treacherous mind chose to wake up. Lancing pain shot through his body. Bone deep and aching, he couldn't blink without aggravating the bruises. His left eye had swollen leaving his vision blurry. His right eye looked around trying to absorb whatever he could.

He remembered having a plastic truck when he was a kid. He growled out engine noises as he pushed it around the room. One day, Dean came home from school and accidentally stepped on it. He crushed the toy into shards. Sam's chest felt like that, crushed and jagged.

He shifted against the cot springs then wished he hadn't. His mind swirled behind closed lids as pain radiated from his ribs to his belly.

June had lost all control when Sam rejected her. Her fists rained down on him unrelenting while Sam twisted helplessly, unable to protect himself or escape. He didn't know how long she beat on him but when she stepped back, she seemed surprised by what she'd done. The crash of the cellar door slamming as she left was the last thing Sam heard before darkness overwhelmed him.

As he lay there after waking, Sam wondered how many times a person can get knocked out before brain damage ensues. He didn't want to be brain damaged. His intelligence was the only thing that set him apart. How would he get into college if he was drooling or unable to speak in sentences or…? He stopped that line of thought. The fact that he was thinking all of that lent support to the fact that he wasn't damaged. At least not yet.

He sighed softly, winced at the pull on his face and sighed again. He flexed his fingers and wiggled his toes because those were things he could do. He wished sleep would take him again.

Living with hunters, going on jobs made bumps and bruises inevitable. But, Sam had never been this hurt, had never thought he might die from an injury. He had never been in pain like this and he didn't know what to do. He felt restless and anxious but he couldn't move. His body betrayed him with every breath because nothing but pain washed back on him. Frustration welled up, choking him with its uselessness.

Sam thought about the girl in the laundry room. She had been terrified and looked beaten. That made him wonder about the shapeshifter Derek killed. He was convinced now that Derek and June were monsters which meant he had witnessed the murder of an innocent. And he had failed to save her. He wondered if he'd be able to save the laundry room girl.

Shifting again, he gasped and reminded himself to stay still. But that was nearly impossible.

He pictured the cot in his mind. Metal frame, bare springs and a flat pillow was all he'd noticed. But, earlier when he tried to move, it had shifted with him. If he tried harder, would he be able to flip it? If he could, what would he gain? The mechanism holding him down was still attached beneath the bed. The belt around his middle still held his hands and feet in place. Unless turning over the bed actually broke the frame and that, in turn, released the lock on the bed then it would be pointless. He'd just be stuck face down on the floor with a bed lying on top of him.

He also might puncture a lung or do some other fatal damage in the process. He didn't think it was worth the risk. He was confident that Dean wouldn't think so either.

One lesson his father drove home was that they should never put themselves in a situation that they couldn't escape. One of his most vivid memories was being around five years old and sitting on a branch at the top of a tree with no idea of how to get down.

Sam wondered why he was thinking about that.

A sharp twinge shot up from his chest to his face and he groaned.

He wondered where June and Derek were. If they chose not to come back, Sam would die. He'd dehydrate, probably quickly given his battered condition. He suspected it wouldn't be fast enough though. He really didn't want to die slowly and alone in a dirty cellar.

He wanted to see Dean and his father again. He wished he could apologize for pushing his father to the breaking point. He wished he hadn't said all the crappy things he said. He thought it would be terrible to die with such hard feelings between them.

Sam held his breath through another jab of radiating pain. The constant ache was bad enough but the sudden flares really hurt.

He shifted again but overcompensated when the pain started. As he twisted back his torso exploded in an agonizing blast. He cried out with a curse as shadows crowded into his consciousness. His breaths came hard and heavy while he tried to adjust. His mind stubbornly refused to release him so he focused on staying still and breathing.

"Let me go!" he screamed.

Desperation and frustration and anger overwhelmed him. "Let me go," he screamed again.

Shaking now, he started talking to himself. "Calm down, calm down. This isn't helping anything. Come on, Sam, think."

Slowly the trembling dissipated, his heart stopped feeling like a railroad train beating against his chest and his breaths came slower. He kept talking for a long time, determined not to let fear overwhelm him.

He startled when the cellar door opened. He hadn't heard the telltale footsteps.

June stood on the threshold for a moment, not speaking or moving and Sam tried to keep his expression impassive. She pulled her ponytail out again then replaced it but never stopped looking at Sam. She descended the steps like a politician ascending a podium, all stiff control.

She no longer wore the yellow dress. Blue jeans, work boots and a long-sleeve Henley that looked too big, hung off her narrow frame.

She stalked towards the cot, picked up the chair and moved it out of the way.

"June," Sam said, thinking she was there to kill him. She was probably dressed to bury his body.

"You can't look like this when your father comes," she said.

Surprised by her words, Sam held his breath when she lay on the floor and reached under the cot. He felt a slight release around his middle and realized she had unlocked the mechanism holding him to the springs.

"Get up," she ordered.

Eagerly, Sam tried to sit up. He couldn't believe his luck. Until he jarred his ribs and back. The sudden pain flooded him and he fell back with a cry.

"Oh, my God," he murmured.

"Please. Save the dramatics," June said. Her voice cut through the blare of agony. "Get up."

Not confident that he'd succeed, Sam was still determined to get out of the basement. He dug past his fear and forced himself to slowly roll on to his side. That worked better but he was panting through it, trying to keep the pain manageable. Using the edge of the cot for leverage he kept rolling until his knees hit the hard packed floor. His vision swam but he fought back. He knew if he passed out, she'd either bind him again or kill him and he wasn't willing to allow either to happen.

Awkwardly working with the short tether on his wrists, Sam grasped the edge of the cot to push up. The cot flipped up a few inches from his weight and he cursed. June let out a suffering sigh and put her arms under his. He used her help to get on his feet. The change in altitude sent a lightning bolt through his skull. He gasped as he squeezed his eyes closed, fighting nausea with everything else.

"Look, Sam, if you're not going to do this…" June said.

"No, no, I'll do whatever, okay?"

Sam would agree to anything just to get out of the cellar. Once he reached the main level, all promises were off.

"All right, I'll give you a chance. If you can get up the steps on your own then I'll let you clean up. If you keep up with all this drama then I'll just leave you down here."

Sam couldn't get words out around the bile threatening his throat so he shifted away from her instead and concentrated on balance. He surprised himself when he didn't sway too much. Swallowing to keep his gag reflex in check he took a short step. The chains on his legs gave just enough.

"Can you…" he motioned towards his ankles.

June sighed again as if he asked her to carry him then reached for the band around his middle. Sam flinched backward earning a glare from her. "Just until we're at the top. I don't trust you not to run."

Sam nodded.

She was right not to trust him. He was hoping he'd be able to shove her back down the steps and make a getaway through the patio door.

He considered doing nothing and just waiting for his father and Dean to arrive but he couldn't stop wondering if she was lying. As far as he knew his family wasn't going to be there for a couple more days. What if June and Derek were just trying to keep him from trying to escape? What if they were preparing for Dad and Dean to arrive so they could kill them too?

June yanked the belt around his waist and drew him closer to her. She knelt down in front of him and unlocked the tether between his ankles. When she stood up, she motioned towards the cellar entrance.

Relieved to have his legs free, Sam moved slowly across the floor then climbed the two steps towards the door. Each moment that he grew closer to getting out of the cellar, he worried that she'd change her mind. He walked through the threshold and put his foot on the first step. Dizziness swept through him and he grabbed the wall wishing for a railing or recess but relying on the rough cement instead. The gray faded away from his vision and he steadied.

The rest of the journey took too long. Sam was sweating by the time he reached the main floor. His legs felt limp and his head pounded like a jackhammer. His ribs pulled with every movement and more than once he thought he'd lose his balance and tumble backward down the cement steps. But, he reached the top with June close behind, berating him for his slow pace.

His hope plummeted when he looked up to find Derek standing by the patio door with arms crossed and a stern expression.

"What are you doing?" Derek asked and Sam hesitated, not knowing how to answer and wondering if Derek could read minds now.

"He needs to get cleaned up," June answered.

Derek rubbed his hand over his head. He looked between Sam and June with a thin-lipped frown.

"What happened to him?" He asked.

"You know. You did it," she accused.

"I didn't do all that. I thought we were trying to make him look better, not worse."

"Don't worry about it. We'll think of something. Like you said, Winchester isn't going to believe him anyway. The kid's a liar."

Sam bristled at that though he couldn't say why he cared what they said about him. June probably thought he lied because she still believed he had been flirting with her. But, what really bothered him was their certainty that Dad would take their word over Sam's. Whatever Dad had said to Derek must have made it seem like there was no trust between them.

Derek looked Sam up and down. "You're so skinny. Does your dad ever feed you?"

Sam assumed it was a rhetorical question.

"Hold still," Derek said as he knelt down in front of him. Sam saw his chance. A good kick would knock Derek down and Sam could run.

"Wait. Just help me get him into the shower."

"A washcloth will do," Sam said quickly. He didn't like the idea of being naked around either one of them.

"I'll be nice," June said.

Sam spun back towards her to argue but he moved too quickly and dizziness swept over him. He reached out for the closest thing to catch himself which was June. She stepped towards him but then hands grabbed him and dragged him back. The yank jarred his ribs and Sam's body exploded in pain. He wilted with it but Derek held him up with one arm around his waist and the other around his neck.

Derek shook him. "Hold still."

Sam didn't realize he was struggling until he forced himself to stop.

"You know he's not a pet," Derek said to June. "You can't keep him."

"She wanted to keep him. I can feel it," June said.

"You have to push that down. You shouldn't still be feeling like that," Derek said.

Sam felt like he was falling down Alice's rabbit hole. Who wanted to keep him?

"Come on," Derek said to Sam and pulled him backwards.

Adrenaline surged up and Sam threw his head back trying to connect with Derek's nose. He hit something and heard a satisfying grunt from the other man. The grip on his neck tightened and oxygen stopped moving into his lungs. He thrashed with panic, trying to escape until slowly, Sam felt his vision graying as Derek choked him.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS SSSSSS

Dean slept for an hour with his head propped against the passenger window. He was wrapped in the army jacket they purchased a few weeks ago at a second hand store. John listened to him snuffle and snore and was glad for the Percocet he'd managed to procure a month earlier. But, Dean was never one to stay idle for long. Even as a young child, Dean only slept six or seven hours at a time. As he grew older, that time shortened even more. The painkillers kept him docile but not asleep.

He woke with a yawn and a stretch, wincing as he irritated his head injury. Then he quietly stared out the side window for a while. John knew Dean was preparing for a serious conversation. His son hated dealing with sensitive subjects and John wasn't a fan of it either. But, he also knew that Dean needed to talk about something. The kid practically wore a neon sign when something was bothering him.

It took another hour before Dean finally spoke.

Three hours away from Rochester, Minnesota with overcast skies and a cold wind to keep them company, Dean shifted in his seat to sit up straight.

"Why'd you hit him?" he asked and they both knew that he meant Sam.

"I don't know. Obviously, I lost my temper." John heard the irritation in his voice. He hated having to explain himself, even more so when he knew he was wrong.

"You two fight all the time."

The statement hung between them because it was true. How could John respond to that?

"You can't…," Dean hesitated then said. "He's a teenager so you have to be the adult."

John scoffed. "You don't think I know that? He's just so pig-headed all the time. Won't listen, won't stop giving his opinions on everything, won't stop acting like he knows everything. It's gonna get him killed, Dean."

"He doesn't think he knows everything. He just acts like that because he doesn't want you to know how scared he is."

"What does he have to be afraid of?"

Dean scowled. "Seriously?"

"He can take care of himself. We've both made sure of that. And we watch him all the time. I don't know why you think he's scared."

"He's fifteen, Dad. He fights monsters. Plus he's got that gigantic brain so he sees everything all the time."

"When you were fifteen…"

"We're not the same. You can't think he's going to act like me."

John shook his head, exasperated. He watched the scenery pass and wished Mary was there to help him. She'd been gone for years but he still thought she'd understand both boys better than he ever would.

"Dad…"

"I know, all right? I know that Sam is different than you. I know he's struggling with who he is. I know that I'm not the man or the father that he wants me to be. But, Dean, I can't just listen to it all the time and do nothing. I'm his father, I deserve some respect. I've earned that much."

"So has he."

John glanced at his oldest son. Dean looked back at him with such defeat that John recoiled internally. He knew that Dean was in pain, that he was tired and he missed his brother. But, even factoring in all that, John knew that he instilled some of that surrender into his boy and his stomach clenched with the knowledge.

"I know. I promise, Dean, I won't lash out like that again. Not at either of you. I was wrong, okay? Sam can be difficult but I was wrong."

Dean's shoulders slumped a little as if a burden had been lifted off him.

"Try and get some sleep, son. We're still more than two hours away."

"Yes, sir," Dean replied but he didn't close his eyes. "Do you think we should call June or Derek?"

John wiped a hand over his mouth. He had been thinking about that.

"You know what? Let's surprise Sam."

John didn't say that he thought there might be trouble or that he was starting to worry about his last conversation with June. He didn't want to scare Dean by telling him that June didn't sound like herself or that John had a knot in his belly. Even as he tried to rationalize away his fear, he couldn't quite let go of it.

Dean startled him when he said, "I think you're right. Let's surprise all of them."

John exchanged a look with his son and realized that Dean had fears too.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS 

The cold, smooth surface around him confused Sam as he woke. He couldn't get a purchase on anything as his hands and feet slid against the slick walls. As full consciousness descended, he realized that the band around his waist was gone. He moved his limbs freely. He pushed his eyes open slowly. The left remained swollen and sluggish while he opened the other with a soft moan.

Lying on his back, he looked up at the tiled ceiling and then the metal shower spigot swam into focus. He looked around himself finding that he was naked and scrunched into the bathtub. One of his legs hung over the side, while the other was bent at an uncomfortable angle.

Sam shifted around carefully, getting himself into a less exposed position. Every movement sent shards of pain cutting through his head and chest. His throat hurt too but the concussion raging since the first blow he took kept his attention. His ribs shifted weirdly too and he had to fight to keep from slipping away again.

A creak startled him and he shifted away covering himself with his hands at the same time. When the bathroom door opened, June stood in the doorway with Derek hovering behind her. Sam was glad to see that Derek's nose was bruised and swollen. June tried to smile but the expression looked wrong on her face.

"Take a shower," she said. "There are clothes on the sink. Come out when you're done."

Sam just stared at them. He wasn't sure he could stand up. Getting situated on the smooth porcelain then showering without losing his balance or passing out seemed like an impossible task. But, he couldn't ask for help. Modesty aside, he was entirely vulnerable too.

They backed away and closed the door. Sam remained on his back wondering how he was going to do what they wanted. He could refuse but he was naked in a bathtub. Nothing says "hide a murder" like a body in a bathtub.

With slow, deliberate moves, he turned on to his side, grimacing at the cold. His back brushed against the edge of the tub and he winced. It felt like a cut or something back there. He figured with all the times he had spent getting knocked around and knocked out, he shouldn't be surprised at a few scrapes to match the rest of his injuries.

He got his knees under him and waited a moment to catch his breath. Once the room stopped acting like a carnival funhouse, Sam gripped the tub and pushed up. He got his feet planted but stayed curled over as his head and ribs sent a chorus of agonizing complaints. He waited again, breathing in short gasps with his eyes squeezed tight.

"I can't do this," he said softly. Then he kept waiting and kept breathing until finally the worst of the pain started to fade.

Carefully, he released his death grip on the edge of the tub and forced his body to stand. He fell against the back wall and locked his knees. Trembling and weak, he took more time to adjust. Knowing the pain would eventually start to subside allowed him to keep trying to stay upright. With his vision wavering he thought about how much it would hurt to fall over so he held on.

"Come on, Sam, keep it together," he told himself.

When his legs stopped quavering and his hands stopped shaking, Sam leaned forward carefully and turned on the water. The cold blast from the shower nozzle sent goose bumps skittering over his flesh. He gasped as he recoiled away from the spray.

"Damn it." He should have thought about that, prepared for it.

He stayed still, plastered against the wall.

The water turned warmer but the transition was too slow. Sam shivered violently as his body adjusted to the temperature. He struggled with staying on his feet while his injuries asserted themselves again. As the shower soaked him he felt several more painful pings that he couldn't identify. They were all on his back from shoulders to hip. He reached behind to see if he could feel what they were but he couldn't figure it out.

Pink swirled with the water going towards the drain and he hoped he wasn't still bleeding from someplace.

He turned his face into the water and drank greedily. He thought his brain must really be scrambled because he hadn't thought about getting a drink, or food, in a long time. Basic survival abandoned him somehow. As the water filled him though, it had an immediate stabilizing effect. He had needed it.

The bathroom door opened again to reveal June. Sam grabbed at the shower curtain and pulled it closed, belatedly realizing that he had forgotten to do that so the floor was probably flooded.

"You're an idiot," June said, angrily. "Hurry up and finish so you can clean up this mess. God, it's like you're five instead of fifteen."

She slammed the door and Sam hoped she was on the other side of it, not standing there waiting for him.

Nausea bubbled up inside him. The shower water sloshed uncomfortably in his stomach.

He jumped when a loud bang landed against the door. "Hurry up," June's shrill voice screamed.

Sam started looking around for a weapon; a razor, a pair of scissors or something heavy to use as a club, anything that he could use to stab or bludgeon his captors. His goals were simple. He needed a phone, a chance to look for the girl he saw and to get out of the house. Nothing complicated or insurmountable, he thought.

It would be easier if he could see clearly but no plan was perfect, he thought, and then the ludicrousness of that struck him and he laughed. Dean would call him "crazy" and maybe it was true.

As Sam dried off, he spotted a plunger beside the toilet. Maroon colored rubber stuck to the end of a three foot wooden stick. Sam picked it up. It was lightweight but solid. It might not knock either of them out but it would hurt to get hit. He slid the rubber end off and set it down then hefted the stick again. Obviously it wasn't made to be a weapon but it was going to serve as one.

He dressed in the jeans and gray sweatshirt left on the toilet. No underwear, t-shirt or socks but the clothes were dry and warm. He stopped a couple of times to settle his vision and let the pain ease away but mostly he was eager to take action. He knew the only thing working for him was adrenaline but for now, it was all he needed.

He slid the wooden handle under the sweatshirt and wrapped his arm close to his body to keep it hidden. Sam figured they'd know he was hurt and wouldn't question the way he hunched forward. Just as pulled the shirt down a little, the door opened again.

June stood with one hand on the door handle and one on her hip.

"You've milked this long enough, Sam. I want to see you on your knees in front of that tub. Clean up the water and make the floor spotless."

Sam thought about the stick he carried wondering if he could keep it from sliding into view. He also wondered if he'd be able to get down on the floor without passing out.

"You don't have a mop?" He asked.

She cocked her head with a frown, no doubt ready to deliver a scathing response but he didn't give her a chance. In one smooth motion, Sam let the stick slide out into his hand and swung it hard across her head.

June stumbled to one side and fell onto her knees. Sam ignored the agonizing jolt through his own body. He let his training and instincts take over. Bringing the stick back around, he jabbed the end into the side of her skull. She dumped over with a grunt and he smashed her again. Blood spurted from her cheek when it split and she stopped moving.

Sam stumbled towards the dining room. He leaned against the door jamb letting the pain and sweat wash over him. He wished he had stopped to search June. She might have her phone or a weapon with her but he didn't think he'd get up again if he knelt down to go through her pockets.

He considered his options and decided he had to brave the upstairs to see if the girl was there. Once he found her, they could escape the house, knock on a neighbor's door and use their phone. He moved quickly through the dining room, living room and into the guest room. He expected to find his duffle where he carried a gun and a couple of knives inside, but the space was empty. Even the bed had been stripped. It was like he'd never been there at all.

Sam refused to think about the meaning of that. He moved across the floor and opened the door that led to the upstairs. With every breath and every step, he worried that Derek would appear.

He kept moving, kept listening and watching. He heard the creaks of the house and the wind outside. He focused past those noises, searching for any threat. As he ascended the steps, he was grateful for the carpet covering. He clutched his makeshift weapon and looked in front and behind him as he climbed.

When he reached the top, he found a half wall on his right side and doorway on his left. He glanced over the wall, recoiling at the sudden copper odor in the air. His vision remained blurry from his swollen and damaged face but he recognized blood stains on the plush carpeting. A short gate separated him from the macabre mess so he pushed it open. As soon as he entered the small room, he gasped at the smell of decomposition and blood.

A small ticking noise drew his attention to the ceiling where he spotted a large air processor. The metal gleamed with its newness. There was no dust or grime on it and the store tags dangled from one end. Sam had seen this type of machinery in bars. It was used to suck tobacco smoke out of a room. He guessed they used it to keep the gruesome smell of death from traveling through the house.

Sam heard something else that made his heart pick up and his skin ripple with goose bumps. It sounded like sucking and chewing as if someone were close by devouring chicken off a bone. He turned towards the noise and found Derek hunched over a bed with a body lying before him. The naked legs of the body twitched but not like the living. Sam forced himself to look higher.

The girl from the laundry room, eyes glassy and dead, stared back at him. Her bare arms were tied to the headboard but her life struggle had clearly ended. Her skin showed where her flesh had been flayed and torn by bites.

Sam gasped and stepped back, his bare foot squishing in something cold and thick. Derek spun towards him with blood around his mouth and covering his cheeks. As he darted up from the chair, Sam saw where he'd been feeding on the girl.

Sam raised his stick in horror as Derek barreled toward him with an awful growl. Derek didn't notice or didn't care because he impaled himself with a sickening squelch. His eyes widened in surprise as Sam stepped back.

Derek reached towards his stomach, grasped the stick and slid it free. He smiled at Sam around chunks of something in his teeth and blood sliming out of his mouth. Sam shoved into him and darted towards the stairs. Adrenaline kept him running until he reached the bottom when Derek drove into his back, tackling him into the guest room.

Sam yelled out as his broken ribs seemed to twist inside him. Derek flipped him on to his back, pinning his arms above his head. Sam struggled weakly but Derek just pushed harder, grinding his bones with the pressure.

With black creeping into the edges of his eyesight, Sam gave one more try at pushing Derek off him but the much larger and heavier man just waited. His blood soaked grin followed Sam into unconsciousness.

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	7. Chapter 7

Shadows From the Dim Hereafter

By: CoffeeManiac

Not Slash. Rated T for some mature content.

Warnings: Violence. Hints at sensitive subject matter. Lots of HurtSam. Some HurtDean. This story is not labeled as horror, however, towards the end, there are a couple of short, but fairly gruesome descriptions so, please be prepared.

**Part 7**

Sam woke up. Again. In the cellar. Again. With June and Derek standing over him. Again. He groaned and closed his only functioning eye and turned away from them.

"Ghouls," he said, softly, still refusing to look at them. "You're ghouls."

"Wow. Welcome to the party," Ghoul-June said. She had a slice along her cheek from where Sam had hit her.

"June and Derek? They're dead?"

"Oh, yeah," Ghoul-Derek said. "Yummy."

Sam filled his lungs and looked back at the two monsters hovering beside him. "Then why am I still alive?"

"I don't want to eat you," June answered. "Not yet."

Sam thought about that but it didn't make sense. "Why not?"

"Something in the original's brain likes you," Derek said. "It happens. She's young, still learning to filter out the crap. We take the memories and the bodies so sometimes we get a little more."

"That's disturbing," Sam commented.

"You really screwed us up, Sammy," Derek continued. "I thought we'd have a good thing here. We'd take a few bites, make it last a while and no one would know. But, your father called June a few hours before we killed her. Imagine how surprised we were to find out that three more hunters were on their way."

"Why'd you kill them? I thought you liked corpses."

"They hadn't discovered us yet," June answered. "But, we didn't like having hunters so close to our feeding ground."

"How'd you know they were hunters?"

Derek laughed as he said, "You all think you're so clever, don't you? So stealthy. Guess it's not true, is it?"

"So, what now?" Sam asked.

"Like I said, you screwed everything up. We could've just stopped letting your lot stay here. We could've told everyone than June and Derek were out of the 'hunting' business. But, now we can't. So we're going to kill your family and you and clear out of here."

"But, not right away," June interrupted. "I mean, we don't have to kill him right away. I get to keep him for a while, don't I?"

Sam swallowed against the wave of nausea that bubbled up.

"Just until we're done with the other two," Derek said. "It's too dangerous to keep him alive."

"How many have you killed?" Sam asked, trying to distract them. He needed to keep their attention so they couldn't put any kind of lethal plan into action.

"Not many," Derek answered. "We're happy with the dead so, we've been making some withdrawals at the mortuary. But, I have to be honest, after we ate your friends, well, that just opened up a whole new menu choice for us."

"The girl, the shapeshifter…"

"She thought her runaway sister was staying here."

"Which was true," June said, giving Derek a sly smile.

"She was bringing some clothes to her, hoping to convince her to come home," Derek continued.

"The two girls, the one outside and the one in the laundry room, are sisters?" Sam asked.

"That's right. I was planning to keep them together for a while. Like two kinds of pretzels. But, then I saw you lurking on the patio and I had to change plans."

Sam fought back another surge of nausea. He couldn't stop seeing the terror on each girl's face.

As he lay on the narrow cot with springs pressing into his back he tested the chains. His hands and feet were bound to the metal legs of the bed and the prison restraints were gone.

June petted his chest. "Shsh, don't be afraid. When we do eat you, I'll make sure you're dead first."

Sam nodded grimly. "Great."

She moved her hand down, rubbing circles on his belly. She slipped beneath the sweatshirt to repeat the action. Sam tried to shift away but with his limbs bent and pulled down, his ability was limited.

"June, the original June, thought about you a lot, Sam," she said. "So young and sweet. Not spoiled like your brother."

"Yeah, well, I haven't seen her in a year so, uh, things have changed a bit."

"Oh, I know. I can smell a virgin and that 's not you."

Sam flashed briefly on Rita Wade's face. Eighteen years old and finishing her last year of high school, Rita didn't want to start college as a virgin. Sam was willing to help with that problem.

"But, still, you are a very attractive boy," June continued, "And I like you anyway. I've eaten and absorbed other people, Sam, but no one has ever affected me like this. Her attraction to you must have been very strong."

Uncomfortable and needing a change of subject, Sam indulged his curiosity. Addressing Derek, he said, "That reminds me, why don't you look like a 90 pound girl now?"

"We have to consume the brain and heart to take over the body and the mind," he said. "I don't want to be a flimsy little girl. No matter how sweet they taste."

Anger and revulsion warred with each other as Sam processed that information. June kept sneaking her hand over his torso and he had had enough.

"Get off me, you disgusting scavenger."

June laughed but she sounded nothing like the woman that Sam remembered. It was an ugly cackle without any humor or warmth. Then he felt some pressure below his rib cage that turned into agony as she stabbed her finger through his skin. Sam cried out, hands bunching up as she withdrew the digit and looked Sam in the eye as she sucked his blood off it.

"See how much worse it can be?"

Heaving air, he said, "Just keep your hands to yourself."

Sounding thoughtful, she said, "June likes touching you. I'm not sure why but I get a nice feeling from it. She thought you wanted her to touch you. That's why I made such a fuss earlier when you rejected me. Weren't you expecting it? Wasn't I convincing when I mimicked her?"

Derek nudged June out of the way. He leaned over Sam, fetid breath joining his words, "Be polite or I won't wait for her to be ready."

Sam shook his head, feeling his courage wane. "No, don't."

"All right then." Derek backed up a few steps letting June draw close again.

Sam winced as he turned away from them. Helplessness and grief washed over him. He wanted to grow up, to become a man. He wanted to finish school and maybe go to college. Somehow he always knew that a hunter's life would kill him but he never expected it to done by a couple of ghouls in a basement. He thought he'd go down saving someone, trading his life for his family or a victim, not become the victim himself.

Sam fought back against the despair as he faced them again. He swallowed over his dry throat, prepared to make another plea for his life. He knew if he just delayed them a little longer then Dean and his father would arrive.

The cellar door startled all of them when it banged against the wall. Sam gasped when he saw his brother standing there with a sawed off shotgun hanging from one hand.

"What's going on?" Dean asked. His voice and expression clearly showed that he couldn't make sense of what he was seeing.

"They're ghouls," Sam screamed at him. "They're ghouls."

Dean expertly flipped the gun around and fired. June grunted when the bullet hit her in the torso and folded forward. Derek shoved her out of the way and dove for the landing behind them. Dean drove into the room firing again into June's head. Her skull disintegrated.

"Head shot, Sammy."

"I know," Sam said but his voice choked up on him. Dean looked between him and the landing and Sam knew he was torn between going after the monster and helping him.

"Derek can't go anywhere," Sam said. "No exit that way."

"Okay, okay, hold tight. Dad'll be here in a minute."

Sam heard Dean grunt as he climbed the recess into the next room. He yanked on his limbs, wanting desperately to free himself. Nothing had changed so nothing budged but he kept trying. He could hear footsteps against cement but no yelling, no fighting and no scuffling.

"There's a curtain and a toilet," Sam yelled. "Watch the curtain."

Dean's cry of pain sounded through the small space and then there were a lot of thuds and skin smacks and grunting. Sam could only follow it with his ears until Dean tumbled into view, rolling head over butt and landing with an "oomph" as he hit the steps leading to the cellar door.

Derek popped into view next, growling and spitting as he attacked Dean. Dean dove away from him and came up on his feet but the shotgun was not in sight. Sam held his breath while he pulled on the restraints. Derek threw a solid punch towards Dean but Dean blocked and came back with a hard two punch into his abdomen. Derek didn't seem to notice as he grabbed Dean by his jacket and dragged him close.

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When they had first arrived at June's house, John knocked on the metal security door but no one answered. He tried the handle and found that it wasn't locked so he opened it and knocked again. He couldn't explain the panic that flooded through him when there was still no answer. Dean must have been feeling it too because he abruptly kicked the interior door in. John slid a lock pick set out of his coat pocket and waved it, giving Dean a knowing look. Dean just shrugged as they entered the living room.

In a quiet voice he told Dean to search the common rooms on the main floor while John searched the bedrooms. A few minutes later, they met in the kitchen without finding their friends or Sam.

John told Dean to check the cellar while he went upstairs. The house remained eerily quiet as John made his way back towards the guest room. He knew there was an entry into the stairwell from there. He opened the door, glad when it didn't squeak and climbed the steps with as much care as possible. He hoped to find Derek lifting weights or some other innocuous activity. He wanted to find Derek and then hear some story of how June and Sam were on an outing.

But, he couldn't convince himself that it would happen that way.

When he reached the top step he peered towards an empty kitchen then looked over the short wall. The sight of blood and human remains brought up the stench.

"No," he whispered as he pushed open the small gate.

It only took a moment to see the bed and a tied girl, probably Dean's age, maybe younger. Her naked body had been ravaged by something with an appetite. John could see the bite marks and the rips in her skin. He saw the shock in her still face and shook his head.

He knew what killed her. He'd seen the damage before. With a stab of fear he looked further because he might find Sam. He might find his baby ripped to pieces or the ghouls might not have started on him yet.

But, John didn't find Sam. He found Sam's duffle bag laying a few feet away from the remains of Derek and June. Laid side by side in the back of Derek's weight room, their decomposing bodies showed the remnants of their terrifying death.

On the other side of the room lay the ravaged remains of another girl.

John didn't have time to be horrified. He hadn't found Sam and he had sent Dean to the cellar alone.

Giving up all pretense of stealth, he ran down the steps. Just as he reached the guest room he heard the sound of a shotgun blast. He tore through the house and down into the cellar. When he stepped through the door, he found Dean in the grip of a monster that looked like a friend.

"Dean, duck," John yelled then fired his Taurus into Derek's head. Derek didn't have enough face left to look surprised as he collapsed taking Dean with him.

John ran over shoving the nearly headless body off Dean and pulling him from the floor. Once he was up, John turned his attention to Sam.

He knelt down beside the cot, seeing the horrific bruises. There were red and purple marks around Sam's neck and only one eye blinked at him around the swelling in his face. John gently brushed the bangs off his forehead.

"Got 'em," Dean said going to the opposite side of the cot. John heard the click of a lock releasing and then Dean tossed the keys to him to do the other side.

They got the restraints off him and John wrapped an arm around Sam's back, lifting him up to sitting.

"God, Sammy, how bad?"

Sam didn't answer. He leaned forward into John's chest. As John pulled him close he felt violent tremors passing through his son's body.

"It's all right, Sammy," he said.

Then Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed. "You're okay now," he said.

The fifteen year old nodded, letting them know he had heard.

"I think I have a concussion. Nothing is staying still," he said, his voice raspy and soft.

"Let's get out of here," John said. "We'll stop first place we can and check you out."

John took an extra moment to look at Sam's face and his one open eye. He could see that Sam was right about the head injury. The way the kid stayed huddled into his middle told John that there were more injuries than that to deal with.

He glanced up at Dean who was hovering, looking worried, but not panicked.

John helped Sam to stand but Sam's knees buckled. Luckily, Dean was there to help catch him. For such a skinny kid, he carried some weight. John slid one arm around his shoulders while Dean wrapped an arm around his waist. They steadied him between them then headed for the cellar steps.

"There's a girl upstairs," Sam said. "They killed her."

"What?" Dean asked.

"I saw," John said. "There's nothing we can do for her. I'll call '911' when we're clear."

"My phone got washed," Sam said.

"It's okay, we have phones," Dean said, glancing at John with concern.

"It's shock," John said.

"No, it's not," Sam disagreed. "I was just telling you. Look, can we just get out of here?"

"Someone's cranky," Dean said earning a glare from John.

Getting up the steps was a clumsy effort and by the time they reached the top, sweat beaded Sam's face. Rather than take him back through the house, John kicked open the back door while Dean held his brother. They went into the night and Sam gave a gasp as his bare feet hit the cold pavement.

"Just a few steps," Dean said.

"He killed another girl out here. Said she was a shapeshifter."

John cursed under his breath. He tightened his hold around Sam's shoulders.

"She and the girl upstairs were sisters."

"I saw a news report about it last night," John said. "Their parents said the one girl went missing and then a few days later, the other girl disappeared."

They walked across the cold ground, both John and Dean moving quickly to get their youngest family member into the car. When they reached the Impala, Dean opened the back door but John shook his head.

"No. I want him sitting in the front. It'll jar his ribs too much to get him back there and get him back out."

"He'll be more comfortable lying down," Dean disagreed.

"Not if we puncture a lung."

Dean nodded and opened the passenger door. Sam slid in slowly but his hands were bunched into fists when he finally settled.

The drive to a motel seemed endless with his oldest leaning into the front talking to Sam while John searched the streets for a place to stop. He finally saw some lights for a Day's Inn that was also close to the Rochester Methodist Hospital. John hoped they wouldn't need it. Insurance fraud was complicated and serious but he'd take the chance if Sam had injuries they couldn't treat.

John pulled up in front of the motel, told Dean to wait and went to check in. Normally, John preferred to stay away from the motel chains. He liked the anonymity that came from smaller, privately owned establishments.

The young clerk, a boy about Dean's age, smiled brightly at John and made stupid small talk as he processed the fake credit card. John filled out the information form with the Impala's license plate, changing the letters and numbers around for security. The boy finally gave him two key cards, a map with the room circled and a suggestion to eat breakfast at Cheap Charlie's.

John walked out in a hurry, anxious to get back to the boys. Dean might be functioning but he wasn't healed from the ghost hunt and Sam looked like he'd been repeatedly battered. He needed to take care of both of them.

He followed the directions on the map until he found their room. As requested, it was on the ground level. Dean popped out of the back seat and opened the passenger door while John unlocked the room. He returned to the car to find Sam already halfway out but leaning heavily against his brother.

"I'm all right," Sam snapped when Dean told him to slow down.

"No, you're not. Take the help when you have it."

"What happened to 'push past the pain'?"

"What happened to 'I'm the big brother and I know everything'?"

"You're a jerk."

"And you're a bitch."

"Boys," John interrupted. "Do you think we can move this inside before Sam's feet freeze off?"

"Yes, sir," they responded in unison.

John waited by the car while Dean helped Sam into the motel room. The two of them were the same height now but Sam weighed much less so Dean was able to support him. Once Sam's adrenaline wore off, John expected the kid to collapse but for the moment he was moving fairly well.

John opened the trunk to retrieve their bags then followed them inside. He found Sam trembling on the edge of one bed, his face washed of color.

Dean yelled from the bathroom, "Hang on, Sammy."

John crouched in front of him. "What's going on?"

"Moved wrong," he answered through gritted teeth.

Dean returned with a washcloth. He folded it and laid it across the back of Sam's neck. "Just breathe, kiddo."

For the next hour the three of them worked together. John gave Sam pills for pain, waited a few minutes for them to hit his bloodstream and started checking him out.

Dean questioned him about symptoms and Sam complained of nausea, dizziness and being sensitive to light. He said his chest and back hurt too.

Sam tried to help as they took off his sweatshirt but his movements were awkward. John managed to get it off him then joined Dean in cursing when they saw the bruises covering his torso. John told him to lie down then spent several minutes gingerly pressing Sam's chest. The pain that caused was obvious and John thought he could feel breaks in at least two ribs.

Dean was the first to notice the hole in Sam's side. When Sam described how Ghoul-June had plunged a finger through his skin, John closed his eyes. He breathed through his anger then told Sam he needed to sit up. Between the rigorous exam and the pain pills, Sam leaned sluggishly against Dean while John checked his back. He found six finger sized holes through his son's flesh. They weren't too deep, just enough to pull some skin and blood. The one on his side was clearly the worst but the ghouls had obviously been snacking on him.

"You didn't feel these?" John asked.

"Just in the, uh, the shower. Just in the shower."

"When was that?"

Slurred words reminded John that Sam was feeling the drugs he'd taken for pain. "Today, maybe. Not that long ago. They must've been tasting, or testing me out when I was unconscious. Cuz, you know, I was unconscious a lot, Dad."

John sighed. He sat down next to his youngest while Dean continued supporting him.

"Sammy, these are going to have to be disinfected."

"Well, that sucks."

John patted his leg as he stood up.

"You sure you're not just mad at me?" Sam asked.

Stung by the question, John turned around. "I wouldn't hurt you, Sam."

"We all kind of know that isn't true."

John walked towards the bathroom. He took the first aid bag with him knowing he'd need to find supplies. He closed the door behind him and leaned against the sink. He looked at his reflection and saw the hurt in his own eyes. He blinked but it didn't go away. Knowing he couldn't wait any longer to treat Sam, he pawed through the bag and found the alcohol and swabs.

When he came out, he found Sam still sitting on the bed. Dean had shifted to rearrange his brother's weight.

"Let's get this over with and you can go to sleep," John said.

"Dad, he's just stoned," Dean said. "He didn't mean it."

"Mean what?" Sam asked.

"Let's finish up," John said.

Cleaning and bandaging the wounds took nearly half an hour. By the time, John finished, Sam was trembling and close to sleep. John and Dean maneuvered him carefully until he lay on his back. Lying on his stomach was impossible due to the broken ribs so that was the best they could do.

"You should lie down too, Dean. Your head isn't much better than his."

John returned to the bathroom and turned on the shower. He needed to wash off his son's blood.

He stripped down and stepped into the warm spray thinking about Sam's words, his conversation with Dean and the fight that brought all of it on. Frustration conquered the guilt and anger. He scrubbed his skin quickly then rinsed and dried off. He pulled his jeans and undershirt back on before padding barefoot into the main room.

Dean held up a quieting hand because Sam had fallen asleep. John nodded tersely knowing he'd have to wait to resolve the argument.

A short time later, John lay awake in bed with Dean snoring beside him. Normally the boys shared but with Sam's injuries, Dean was afraid of jostling him. And with Dean's healing concussion, John didn't want him to sleep on the floor.

Still wearing his jeans and tee, he cradled his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He wondered if his fight with Sam was going to damage them forever. Had losing his temper, losing control in that one instant, ruined their relationship? The thought sent waves of sadness through him.

With a fresh surge of guilt, he remembered that not only did they have the fight work through but John had abandoned him in a house of monsters. His stomach clenched with fear at what almost happened. How did he not see the difference in June and Derek? How did he miss that ghouls had replaced them?

John had met June a few years earlier when her husband was attacked by a werewolf. He helped her and Derek put him down. Then he spent a few months with them, working with them as they became legitimate hunters. Others had taught John so he returned the kindness by teaching them.

He had last seen them sometime the previous year. June, who had always been a perfectionist, had turned her obsession into a need for order around her home. She had claimed she only wanted neatness but John could see the underlying push for control.

Derek turned to exercise and nutrition. He hadn't been able to prevent the attack on his brother-in-law and he hadn't been able to save him. By focusing on things that he could do, like improve his health and increase his strength, Derek gained some stability back.

A few days ago when he and the boys arrived to find June's house immaculate and Derek turned into a body builder, John failed to see that the two of them were really different. He attributed it to their previous behaviors and their underlying desire to feel some control over their lives.

But, he should have seen them for what they had become. It was his job to recognize danger before it approached the boys. He had failed dismally and almost lost Sam because of it. If Dean hadn't pushed to return, they would have been too late.

John watched the sun come up, having only dozed off and on, plagued with violent nightmares and then waking up in despair. He finally gave up, pulled on socks, boots and his leather jacket, and headed out to find food for him and the boys.

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	8. Chapter 8

Shadows From the Dim Hereafter 

By: CoffeeManiac

Not Slash. Rated T for some mature content.

Warnings: Violence. Hints at sensitive subject matter. Lots of HurtSam. Some HurtDean.

This is it. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed or made this story a favorite. I hope you're satisfied with the ending.

**Part 8-Conclusion**

Dean stretched with a groan. A few new bruises pulled at his limbs and torso as he rolled on to his side. Something felt different and then he realized that his head didn't hurt. Other than the general aches and pains from being in a fight, he felt good.

He looked over towards Sam guessing that their father must have gone out. Dean hoped he'd bring back breakfast. Just before the fight that led them to June's house, Dean had hustled some significant cash from playing pool so he knew they had money. Paying with cash rather than fake credit cards usually meant pancakes and sausage instead of cheap burritos.

Sam blinked awake with the dull glaze of a drug induced hangover. He moaned softly as he rolled on to his back then hissed in pain and rolled back.

Dean winced in sympathy. "No comfortable position, huh?"

"No," he admitted.

"Dad's probably getting breakfast. Are you hungry?"

"God, yes. Ghouls do not know anything about fattening up their meals."

Dean cringed inwardly. "Yeah, well, all your food ends up in your legs anyway."

"That's going to pay off when I'm taller than you."

"Not going to happen, pal. You're as tall as you're getting."

"I'm fifteen, Dean, I have a good three years of growth coming. I am going to be a giant compared to you."

"Keep dreaming, kiddo."

Sam laughed but he winced a moment later then fell quiet. Dean scooted out of bed. He put his hand over Sam's forehead and found his skin warm but maybe just bed warm, not fever warm. Sam jerked away from him and Dean padded into the bathroom.

When he returned to the main room, the bedside lamp was on and he found Sam sitting up with his back against the headboard and one hand wrapped around his chest. Since the previous night, green and yellow had joined the color scheme of his bruises and his face was bloated with swelling.

"Jesus, Sammy, you look awful."

Sam pulled back slightly at the comment. "I think my other eye is open."

"Which just looks creepier. Like a marble rolling around in a corpse."

"Nice image. Thanks for that."

Dean smiled at the comment. "Can you see?"

"Depends on whether you and the room are featureless blobs or not."

Dean flipped open the cooler and pulled out a plastic bag filled with water. He brought it over and put it in Sam's hand. "Here, put that on your face. It's not ice anymore but it's plenty cold."

Sam closed his eyes as he pressed the baggie to his cheek. "I feel like crap."

"Yeah, well, you should've stayed laying down. Moving around…that's a good way to puncture something. You don't need any more holes in you."

"Couldn't lie there like that all day."

"You want anything? Water, maybe?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, that'd be good."

Dean twisted the lid off a plastic bottle and gave it to Sam. He sat down on the opposite bed and leaned forward to rest his arms on his legs.

"When'd you realize they weren't them anymore?" He asked.

"It kind of hit me when I was in the cellar. But, I didn't know for sure until I saw Derek eating the dead girl upstairs."

Cringing again, Dean let his brother talk.

"I didn't know what they were at first. They made up some story about trying to keep monsters from becoming monsters. I don't know. It didn't make any sense when they said it. They were just trying to keep me from figuring them out."

"Why bother? I mean, why didn't they just kill you?"

"Didn't want to get caught. They knew you and Dad were coming back. Obviously they knew we were hunters. They wanted to keep their gravy train going."

"You want to tell me the whole thing?"

Sam shrugged then spent the next several minutes explaining about the first girl who died, the one that June said was a shapeshifter. He admitted to having doubts but he wasn't sure. Then there was the girl in the laundry room. Sam didn't believe their story of her being a witch in the making but by then he was tied up and trying to stay alive.

Dean's anger grew as he listened to each new layer of Sam's experience.

"At first, they were pretty sure Dad would believe them over me because Dad told Derek I was a screw up."

"Dad never said that," Dean interrupted.

"How do you know? You were in the kitchen with me."

"Because we talked about it. He told Derek that you were going through some stuff and he'd appreciate it if they'd be patient."

"That's not what Derek, or rather, Ghoul-Derek said."

"He was lying, Sam."

"He said a lot of stuff like that. He kept needling me about Dad and how disappointed he is in me."

"You know better than that. Or you should."

Sam shifted and pulled his arm in tighter. "How is he? Still pissed at me?"

"He's not pissed. He's worried. After what you said last night, I think he's really worried."

"What do you mean? What'd I say?"

"You know, about him hurting you on purpose when we were fixing you up."

Sam shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't remember?"

"I don't remember much of anything after the basement. But, Dean, I wouldn't have said something like that. I know Dad would never…"

"You did say it, Sammy."

"Crap."

"I told him you didn't mean it."

"Of course I didn't. Crap, crap, crap."

Sam closed his eyes again and moved the baggie to the other side of his face. Dean almost wished he hadn't told him about the comment to Dad but he knew the two of them had to talk it out.

Dean grabbed the ice bucket and headed out to the machine. As the motor rumbled and ice crunched and plinked into the bin, he heard the Impala's engine. He turned around to watch his father pull into the nearest parking space then climb out of the car. His father didn't notice Dean as he grabbed a clear, plastic bag filled with Styrofoam containers out of the passenger seat and walked into the motel room.

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Sam opened his eyes when he heard the click of the room door. He had heard the distinctive rumble of the car and knew it would be his father. His stomach tightened at the thought of the confrontation he knew they had to have.

Dad set the bag on the table before he stopped to look at Sam. When he did, Sam recognized the tight anger in his face.

"Christ, Sammy, I'm sorry."

Dean walked in, looked between the two of them and sat down at the cheap desk in the corner without speaking.

Sam cleared his throat intending to tell his father that it wasn't his fault.

"I should've seen it," Dad said. "I never should've left you there."

"I kind of asked for it," Sam said. "Not the ghoul thing but, uh, getting left behind. I mean, I kind of…I pushed too hard and I know you needed to get rid of me for a while. I know why."

"Wait, Sam, just wait, all right?" Dad stopped, seeming to realize that he was starting to yell. He scrubbed his face, letting a long exhale escape his lips.

Speaking softer, he said, "I wasn't getting rid of you. I just needed a couple days to get myself back under control. I didn't want to risk a repeat of what happened."

Sam studied his hands for a moment. When he spoke, he heard the desperation in his voice and it surprised him. "Its okay, Dad, really. I know I'm a pain in the ass. I know you don't understand why I'm so miserable all the time. I don't even know."

"Sam, you're growing up. You're a teenager, that's all. Everyone is a little off balance at your age."

"Yeah, but…"

"No, son, listen to me, if I hadn't been so tired and so frustrated after that last hunt, we would've argued. God knows, we always argue, but I wouldn't have hit you."

"You told me to back off and I didn't."

"No, you didn't." Dad rubbed his eyes. "But, that doesn't give me a pass."

Sam glanced towards Dean who was staring at him. He was leaning forward with his hands clasped on his knees.

"Here's the thing, Sam," Dad continued. "I don't ever want that to happen again. But, now, I…I need to know if I'm going to be defined by that one moment. I need to know if you're going to get past it because I…I'm your father, Sam. I have to know."

The tears burning in Sam's eyes wouldn't come. Maybe it was because of the swelling or maybe it was just stubborn pride but he felt them sizzling. His throat filled so he coughed feeling a rock lodged there.

"It's over, Dad." When his father's expression turned from hopeful to stricken, Sam hurried on. "The fight doesn't matter anymore. We both just have to be smarter from now on. But, I…I trust you. I do."

"Last night you said…"

"Doesn't count. I was drugged and it was…I don't know, gallows humor. I don't even remember it. Dad, I mean it, it's over, we don't have to talk about this anymore."

Worry lines faded as Dad nodded and rubbed his eyes again. He turned towards Dean and cleared his throat. Sam couldn't see his face anymore but as his father stood taller, as his shoulders straightened, some of the tension dissipated.

"Let's eat before everything's cold," Dean said, breaking the silence.

"Good idea," Dad agreed. "Sammy needs to eat something before he takes any more meds."

Sam bit back the "no argument" comment that almost spilled out. He didn't think they were ready to joke yet.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS SSSSSSSS

Dean sat beside Sam on one of the beds. His brother drifted in a light sleep. After their intense conversation, breakfast had passed quietly and then Dad gave Sam some painkillers and an anti-inflammatory. Once Sam was settled, Dad went out, telling Dean to stay with his brother.

Dean heard the engine of the Impala rev up and then drive away. He didn't know if his father had errands to run or just needed some time alone.

Bored and restless, Dean emptied the weapons bag and spent the next few hours cleaning handguns while Sam slept. He put the TV on, glad when he found reruns of the original Star Trek playing. It was some kind of marathon because he watched four episodes before Sam woke and asked for water. The kid had ravenously eaten his pancakes and sausage then passed out almost immediately after taking the drugs. Dean gave him a bottle of water but Sam was still drowsy and uncoordinated so he took it back then helped him drink.

Sam was lying on his side and propped up on one arm when he asked, "Did you know June wanted to, you know…" He made a swirling motion with his free hand. "…with me?"

The gesture was meaningless to Dean but he understood from the shy way Sam asked the question.

"June-June or Ghoul-June?" Dean asked, feeling cold creep into his belly.

"No. June…the real June."

"She wanted to boink…"

"Me. Yeah. I guess. That's what Ghoul-June said. She said she was doing what June wanted."

"Wait, hold on, Sam. What do you mean she was doing what June wanted?"

"You know." Sam made the weird swirling motion again.

"Did you and the ghoul…did you have sex with it?"

Sam put his head on the pillow.

"No. But, she wanted to. Kept touching me all the time. Beat the crap out of me when I told her to back off."

Dean could see the distress in the taut lines of his brother's face as he spoke in a slow, drug-addled voice.

"I couldn't block cuz my hands were trapped in that, whatever it was, and she just pummeled my face. Probably should've gone along. Didn't know she was a ghoul then, but I couldn't, Dean. I hated having her on me like that."

Dean sighed, relieved that his brother had fought her off but disturbed that the possibility had been there. "You did the right thing, Sammy."

Dean spoke softly for a couple of minutes, reassuring him and encouraging him to go back to sleep. He settled weakly on the floor between the beds when Sam's breathing evened out and his body relaxed again.

Dean left him alone to go outside. He breathed in the cold air, letting it fill his lungs as it cleared his emotions. He wished the ghouls were still alive so he could kill them again. He wished June and Derek were alive too. They had been good people, friends. They hadn't deserved to be killed and then have their personalities twisted and corrupted.

Dean looked up at the sound of the engine and waited until his father parked the car. Late afternoon brought a frigid wind and the threat of rain.

Dad walked up to him, pulling his jacket tighter around himself.

"It's a little cold to be standing out here, isn't it?"

"When ghouls take over a body…"

"They don't. They transform into whomever they eat."

Dean scoffed, not wanting to debate semantics. "Yeah, I know. So, when they do that, how much of the person stays?"

"Ghouls take the memories. Whatever their victim knows, the ghoul knows."

"But, Derek still looked like Derek. Why didn't he look like one of the girls he killed?"

"I'm not sure about that. It's a question. Maybe they can pick and choose the transformation, maybe they have to do something specific to make it happen."

"The ghoul that took June…it told Sam that June wanted to screw him. Was it telling the truth or…"

His father's eyes widened and he stepped back. "What?"

Hearing the anger in his own voice, Dean pushed on. "Could it be true or was it lying to mess with Sam?"

"Did he? Did it?"

"He says no. Said it tried but he wouldn't go along. Dad, could June have been, I don't know, lusting after him when she was alive?"

Sounding frustrated, Dad said, "I don't know, Dean. How would I know something like that?"

Dean threw up his hands and stomped a few steps away. "Goddamnit."

"What difference does it make now? She's dead. Why does it matter if she…"

Dean spun back around. "Because they used it against him, Dad. They told him you thought he was a screw up and they told him that our good friend, June, was after him. That's why it matters. They used it against him."

Cheeks reddening as he filled his lungs, Dad reached in his pocket and turned away. He paced his way back to the Impala's trunk. Taking the key out, he shoved it into the lock, opened it and took Sam's duffle out. He walked back around and set the bad down as he leaned against the hood.

"You went back to the house?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. There's police tape all over it and there was a squad car on the street. I had to sneak in through the backyard and climb in through a window. I saw his bag upstairs when we were there last night."

Dean leaned against the hood next to his father. He folded his arms.

"We can't split up again, Dad. We're it, the three of us, we're family and we have to stay together no matter what."

In a voice so quiet, it was almost not there, he said, "I know."

Dad picked up the duffle and carried it inside the room. Dean scrubbed a hand over his head and sighed.

He followed a few moments later and found his father putting the weapons away. Dean sat down on the bed next to Sam then scooted up to lean against the headboard and watch TV. Sam lay on his side, not really asleep but not quite awake either. After Dad finished putting the weapons away he settled into the other bed.

The three of them stayed that way until dinner time when Dean took the Impala to go retrieve burgers and beer. As he checked his fake ID before starting the Impala's engine, Dean sighed in relief that the three of them were safe and back together.

A/N: The term "cougar" as it applies to older women did not come into usage until around 2000 or 2001 so while Dean has used it on the show, it was not used in this story.  
A/N: The bit about ghouls needing to eat the heart and brain in order to become the body came from some research I did into the subject. The show never talked about it so its not canon based.


End file.
